


Raise Our False Flag

by triedunture



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, Animal Death, Daddy Issues, Dancing, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Foursome, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Feeding, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inappropriate Erections, Jealousy, M/M, Men Crying, Mutual Pining, One Big Happy Family, Ordering People Around in Bed, Orgy, Period-Typical Homophobia, Polyamorous Character, Power Dynamics, Puppy Piles, Undercover as a Couple, Voyeurism, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-21 21:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only way to get Baron von Steuben to agree to assist in the training of Continental troops is to convince him that Washington shares his inclinations toward pretty young men. Hamilton agrees to play the part of Washington's pretty young man in their ruse. </p><p>Or: noted pervert Ben Franklin demands a fake relationship plot. Diplomacy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Hamilton came upon John Laurens in the midst of the great commotion of encampment, when the baggage carts were overflowing with stewards attempting to make sense of the jumble of crates while soldiers ran about in an effort to appear busy. John was actually busy directing men in the erection of the General's own tent and did not notice him until Hamilton grasped him by the arm, but gently so that he would not startle. "Have you seen His Excellency?" he asked.

"Yes, he and Lafayette—" John turned his attention from his task to face Hamilton and, seeing his haggard countenance, held him by the shoulders in a gesture of concern. "Has something happened?"

"Burr," was all Hamilton could say, biting out the name like a curse. 

Though he couldn't possibly have understood the situation from that syllable, John nodded gravely. There were times when Hamilton believed they might share a single soul and all his thoughts were as clear to John as if they'd come from his own mind. "Follow me," John told him.

They left the bustle of the haphazard preparations and walked along a newly beaten path through some tall grasses to the west of camp. John lead the way with sure feet, and Hamilton soon found himself in a clearing surrounded by a few shaggy elms. General Washington's great black cloak was spread there on the ground, and upon it lay the man himself alongside the Marquis de Lafayette. They both slept the deep slumber of the exhausted, the General with one strong arm flung over his eyes to keep the sun at bay, Lafayette sprawled on his stomach with his head pillowed on his folded hands. 

"Neither have had a moment's rest in days," Laurens whispered. "The General instructed me to wake them in an hour's time, but I haven't the heart. I've let them lie here nearly three." 

"His Excellency will not be pleased with you," Hamilton said, "but I commend your actions." Sometimes, Hamilton mused, Washington needed decisions to be taken from him for his own well-being. 

He crouched down at the edge of the cloak and observed the pair. Lafayette, who seemed perpetually ready for battle in his waking hours, now looked even younger and very vulnerable in sleep. The warm breeze ruffled through his tuft of clubbed hair, and his handsome nose twitched only slightly at this disturbance. General Washington, however, was not softened in his slumber. Hamilton saw that his mouth was set in a determined line and his jaw was tight. Perhaps the worries of his command plagued even his dreams. 

Hamilton hated to add to those worries, but he saw no alternative. "Your Excellency," he said, soft and apologetic. "Sir, it's Hamilton. Please wake." He didn't dare touch him.

Washington did not stir. At his side, Lafayette let out a sleepy snort. 

"Oh, you won't rouse him like that," Laurens said. "His Excellency can sleep through Hell itself." He stooped down and gripped Washington's shoulder, shaking him much too roughly, in Hamilton's opinion. "Sir! It is time."

Washington let out a low groan, but Lafayette was the first to reach wakefulness. The Frenchman sat up on his knees blinkingly, stretching his arms toward Heaven and testing his joints. "Could you not let me dream, dear Laurens?" he muttered in his native tongue. Then, noticing Hamilton on the other side of the General's outstretched body, he switched to his much-improved English. "My Hammie, have you come to join us? A rest may do you good," he said, pressing his fingertips to the skin under his own eyes. 

Hamilton huffed out a laugh; he knew the dark shadows he harbored there were growing by the day. The temptation to fold himself into the small space between Lafayette and Washington was great, but his need to keep working was greater. "I'm afraid not. I have news for the General."

Those words, along with John's continued harassment, finally caused Washington to stir. He sat up and passed a hand over his careworn face, saying, "The sun is much too low. Colonel Laurens, I thought I said—" 

"Sir, there is a matter that requires your attention," Hamilton interrupted. 

Washington looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. Then, with swiftness, he was as alert as ever. "Tell me as we walk," he said as he gained his feet. He strode toward camp, Hamilton rushing to follow, leaving Laurens and Lafayette to gather the cloak from the ground.

"Lieutenant Colonel Burr is waiting for you in the working tents, sir," he said. "He requested to speak to you privately without delay or explanation but I informed him that Your Excellency cannot be expected to handle personally every single matter that appears in the course of our campaign." 

"And?" Washington asked, his voice still deep and dark from sleep. 

Hamilton attempted to ignore that particular sound, and its consequences to his body. He swallowed and charged ahead with his hateful task.

"And Burr said he happened upon Colonel Enslin _in flagrante_ with one Private Monhart early this morning, sir." 

Washington stopped suddenly on the narrow path, and Hamilton had to be quick to make certain he didn't run directly into his General's broad back. That noble head turned to regard him closely. For a long moment, there was silence. 

"The Lieutenant Colonel wishes to court-martial both men to the full extent of the law, Your Excellency," Hamilton plowed ahead, "and he requires your decision on the matter of... punishment." 

"My god." Washington lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezing shut as if in great pain. "Do we not have more important issues at hand, Hamilton? I am trying to keep this Army from falling apart entirely."

Hamilton nodded in sympathy. "My exact arguments, sir. Yet Burr will not yield. He is adamant that Enslin and Monhart must answer for their crimes, and he says if that does not happen soon—" 

"Then Congress may hear of this," Washington finished with able understanding. "This is the last thing we need: an infernal busybody." 

Hamilton's jaw worked, but he held his tongue regarding his more private thoughts on Burr's sudden interest in upholding moral standards in the ranks. His sometimes-compatriot had confided in him, after all, in the matter of Prevost's wife. Hamilton would not wield that knowledge like a sword, though surely Burr would feel no compunction if their positions were reversed. Instead he just agreed with a quiet, "Yes, sir."

With a heavy sigh, Washington turned back toward camp and set off again. "Come. Let us be done with this quickly."

Burr was standing when they entered the tent, looking as if he'd been frozen in place exactly where Hamilton had left him. "Ah, General Washington," he said, "thank you for giving me a moment of your time." His smile seemed incredible, a thing so bright and dangerous that Hamilton could barely look at it. "I hope you appreciate the need for privacy while we discuss what must be discussed." His liquid eyes stroked over to Hamilton, and Hamilton felt his face heat with self-righteous anger. 

"Colonel Hamilton is already privy to the matter, and so will remain here. I will have need of him at the conclusion of this meeting," Washington said in a tone that brokered no argument. He took a seat at his camp desk, which had been placed in the center of the tent, and took up a sheaf of papers that lay there. His eyes scanned over Burr's needle-like handwriting. "Where are Enslin and Monhart now?"

"I've had them shackled in a makeshift brig, sir, near the river," Burr said with patrician smoothness. 

Washington nodded, but did not look up from Burr's report. "And there is no mistaking what you witnessed this morning, Colonel?" 

"None whatsoever, sir. The perpetrators themselves cannot deny it." Burr caught Hamilton's gaze then, and Alexander had the distinct feeling of looking into the eye of some great, waiting reptile that suns itself on the rocks when it can and scurries below when rains come. Right now, the rocks were very warm. 

"Very well." Washington tossed the pages back onto his desk. "Hamilton, draft my order as follows." 

Hamilton moved quickly to another conclave of desks, these grouped together in a row so that Washington's aides might work close together, and he located the requisite paper and ink. He held his quill steady though his heart raced. "Ready, sir." 

Washington spoke as Hamilton wrote: "Due to the breach of decorum discovered by Lieutenant Colonel Burr on the morning of—" He paused. "I've forgotten the date. Include it there, Hamilton."

"Of course, sir." He filled it in accordingly.

"Private Monhart shall be demoted one rank for no less than two weeks," Washington continued, "to be reinstated afterward only by order of his commanding officer. Colonel Enslin is to be discharged immediately and stripped of any effects now belonging to the Continental Army such as uniform clothing, his saber, et cetera. Do you have all that, Hamilton?"

Hamilton allowed himself to breathe once more. "Sir, I do." He signed Washington's name himself, as was usual with them these days.

"Sir!" Burr interjected. "Excuse my poor understanding of your wishes, but that seems a very light punishment indeed. Under the letter of the law, the guilty parties should be made to suffer _some_ dire penalty, if not death." 

"This war has dragged on longer than any of us had imagined," Washington said. He rapped his knuckle against the worn grain of his desk once. "Under most circumstances I will gladly uphold all good laws, but this one?" He shook his head with a sort of finality. 

Burr, apparently, did not see that finality and again protested. "I had thought you of all people, sir, would relish the maintenance of certain standards in this Army! If we allow this sort of behavior to flourish with no consequences, then—"

Washington's voice rose and overlapped Burr's, a terrible rumble that silenced him completely. " **No commander should bar his men from finding whatever solace they can**." Burr could do nothing but gape, and so Washington continued, albeit in a softer voice. "The sins of this… _liason_ ," he said, gesturing to Burr's report, "must be reconciled with God, not I. I have only ordered punishment, small though you find it, because this Enslin is a colonel, and he should know better than to consort with an underling. If you stumble across any more of these cases, and it is a colonel with another colonel or a private and another private, I would have you say nothing to me or anyone else. Have I made myself clear, Burr?"

Hamilton was frozen, bent over his writing desk, in awe at this speech. Washington was not a man given to many words, but the ones he had just spoken were as music to Hamilton's soul. 

Burr, for his part, stood at attention as if his whole being had not been battered by Washington's lecture. "Perfectly, sir."

Washington waved him away. "Take the orders and discharge them. See that Enslin is given civilian clothing and a small portion of money to send him on his way. Some food as well." 

"Sir." Burr saluted and approached Hamilton to receive the paper he'd just written. As he took it, Hamilton could not stop himself from leaning close and whispering, "If you were seeking His Excellency's favor, I'd say you have failed."

Burr pretended not to hear him, for he left without the slightest acknowledgment, as if Hamilton were a shadow. That brought a smile to Hamilton's lips.

"Hamilton." Washington's tired voice snapped him back to a stern countenance. 

"Yes, Your Excellency?" 

"Make a list of possible replacements for Enslin. The candidates must be trustworthy, men of discretion worthy of the promotion." The General looked up at him with dark humor in his eyes. "You need not include Burr." 

"Of course, sir." He paused a moment. "Thank you, sir," he said at last and, not wishing to explain why exactly he had thanked his commander, ducked from the tent to begin his task of interviewing ensigns. 

Later that evening as they sat on their bedrolls around a flickering lamp in their cramped tent, Hamilton relayed the story of what had happened to Laurens and Lafayette, who crowed at his descriptions of Burr's crestfallen face. When their laughter finally died down to only a sporadic chuckle or two, Lafayette declared, "We are lucky to have a man such as the General leading us. His decision was a wise one."

"Perhaps," John said, suddenly very serious. His fine fingers picked nervously at a loose thread on his shirt cuff. "I wonder, though, if he might have just ignored Burr's report altogether. Now we are short one officer, and Lord knows we need all the men we can find to fight this war."

"If he'd been ignored, Burr would have done as he'd threatened; Congress would have intervened," Hamilton pointed out, "and they might not be as lenient as His Excellency in such matters." 

"Perhaps," John repeated, and Hamilton wished for a way to cheer his friend. He poured out a measure of Lafayette's good brandy (the man had a way of producing luxurious items in the most farflung encampments) and pressed it into John's hands. John graced him with a quiet smile in return. 

"So it is true what you say?" Lafayette prodded Hamilton's leg with the toe of his stockinged foot. "General Washington will allow these _couplings_ as long as the men are of a rank?" 

Hamilton shrugged and sipped his own drink. "He said as much. His Excellency believes in a certain kind of propriety." He said this with great unease, not wanting to broach the subject of his own low beginnings. 

John seemed to perk up again, however, and slapped Hamilton on his knee. "It is not just that, of course. Our General is always mindful of how powerful men might turn cruel." At Hamilton's confused stare, he gestured expansively. "Don't you see? Washington fears an officer might force a soldier of a lower rank to— Well, to couple. As Lafayette says." 

Lafayette raised his glass. "I do say." 

Hamilton frowned. "But this case with Enslin and the private…. The two could have been of a mind, could they not?" 

John shrugged. "How can one know? If a commanding officer gives an order, even if he says it is a mere suggestion, his subordinate cannot decline, I think." He nodded firmly. "Yes, I agree with the General's feelings on this. Indiscretions, if they must happen, should occur within the same rank." His dark eyes held Hamilton's for a moment longer before dropping to the glass in his hand. 

"There is a sadness to this, though," Lafayette sighed. 

Hamilton turned to him with a swallow. "And what is that?" 

"The General. He shares his rank with no one." 

They were all three quiet then, staring into the lamp's flame.

"A lonely existence, to be sure," John murmured at last. 

"Not that His Excellency would ever—" Hamilton began. 

"Ah, _non_ , of course—" 

"The very thought would be—" John shut his mouth with a click and they all finished their drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the fake relationship fic I wanted to see in the world! It's silly but there you are. Hope you enjoyed the prologue, which is setting the stage for future shenanigans. The Ruse rears its head in the next chapter. Tags and pairings will be added as it grows, I suppose. Rating is for future...plans.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/), please feel free to talk to me there. Or comment here, I love comments. If you'd like to share this fic, you can reblog [here](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/post/139613303992/raise-our-false-flag-triedunture-hamilton). 
> 
> Many many many thanks to [Poose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/poose) and [Ji](http://crying-of-lot-37.tumblr.com/) who leave the best notes on my drafts.


	2. Chapter 2

Hamilton had thought he'd escaped Hell when he'd left behind his native country, but that place seemed alive again in Valley Forge. The only difference was the cold that replaced the sticky heat; hunger, disease, and filth had all followed him here. He could hardly bear the smells in the camp, so like the ones he'd thought long past.

He stepped over a set of bloody footprints in the frost—bare feet had made them, the toes were quite distinct—and threaded his way through the lines of tents and log huts, the latter all half-constructed. Washington and his closest aides were ensconced in a canvas tent near the Potts farmhouse; the General refused to take refuge in that stone building until all the men had some sort of shelter. Hamilton entered the tent, making certain to secure the flap against the biting wind.

Washington sat at his desk surrounded by a flurry of workers, Laurens and Lafayette among them. Everyone inside the tent was wrapped in whatever cloaks, greatcoats, and blankets they had managed to scrounge. Their breath hung in the air before their mouths in little white puffs. More petitions to Congress were being written and rewritten on the rows of desks. Hamilton himself had already sent thirteen to no avail.

"Excellency," Hamilton said with a salute.

Washington looked up from the reports before him. He wore gloves with the fingertips shorn off to allow him to handle the papers, and Hamilton ached for his commander's hands. "Yes, Hamilton?"

"A letter has just arrived from France, sir." At that, Lafayette looked up from the map he'd been examining, curiosity adorning his face. Hamilton gave him a small shake of his head. "It's from Benjamin Franklin."

"Fine. Read it to me," Washington said, and took the opportunity to slide his hands in the folds of his cloak.

"Sir, my apologies. It's marked confidential for your eyes only." Hamilton dropped the missive with its official seal on Washington's desk.

A quirk of his brows betrayed either the General's interest or concern, possibly both. He examined the letter, broke the seal, and unfolded the single page for his perusal. Hamilton was about to take his leave and see to other matters, but Washington's voice stopped him.

"Hamilton!" he said sharply.

He turned back. "Yes, sir?"

Washington did not answer immediately, but his face took on an expression that Hamilton had never seen there, and he had made a habit of committing to memory his commander's moods and looks. That noble visage was now contorted with something very like anger. No, he had seen anger before at Monmouth; this was rage, surely. It was an unusual sight indeed, as Washington had been mired in a despondency ever since they'd entered this accursed valley, hardly able in that time to muster anything more fiery than regret.

"Accompany me," Washington finally said, rising with sudden vigor from his desk. The eyes of the other aides tracked Hamilton as he followed Washington to the tent flap. Laurens gazed after him pleadingly, but Hamilton could offer only a shrug in answer before quitting the place.

Washington made his way through the muck, his stride twice as long as Hamilton's, which meant he had to to scurry to keep apace. They arrived at the small private tent where Washington's camp bed had been placed; Hamilton knew the spot because he'd been there for three nights in a row, assisting the General with every piece of his correspondence well past midnight.

When they entered the tent, Washington whirled on Hamilton and held Franklin's letter aloft, crushed in his fist. "What manner of foolishness is this?" he demanded.

Hamilton blinked. "Sir? I don't know what you mean."

"Did you pen this yourself in some disguised hand?" Washington pressed. "Or have the other boys banded together with you in this—this jest?"

"Jest?" Hamilton stood horrified. "Sir, I swear to you, that missive has arrived from Paris via Philadelphia. I received it from the supply cart myself moments ago, and can produce the boy who delivered it. If you wish I can determine the ship that carried it across the sea. There is no jest!"

Washington gazed down at him, their heights never more disparate than this moment when Hamilton felt all of two inches high.

"I would never mock you, sir," Hamilton said, soft, hurt.

That seemed to finally convince him. Washington hung his head with a sigh. "So you do not know its contents?" he asked, still holding the letter.

Hamilton shook his head.

Washington held it out to him. "Here, then. Tell me what you make of it."

He took the sheet of paper and remained standing while Washington turned and sat heavily at the edge of his cot to rub at his tired eyes. Hamilton tore his gaze from the sight and read:

_My dear General Washington,_

_By now you will have chosen some place to winter with your troops, which, according to your previous reports, are in dire need of training and supplies. While I cannot provide you with the latter, I believe I may know how to procure the former. Shortly after this note reaches you, a man fashioning himself as Baron Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben will arrive carrying with him my letter of introduction. That letter could not contain the information I must impart here, namely, that the Baron, while an excellent military mind willing to lend his assistance for no rank or payment, is an unreformed eccentric. He is probably not a baron, let alone a gentleman, and has a predilection for dalliances with very pretty French boys. The fact is, I could not secure his promised aid without first assuring him that his preferences would not cause any trouble in America, as I gather they had in his native Prussia. He remained unconvinced and might have stayed in Paris the entire season if I had not contrived a small lie: I told him that General Washington himself shares the Baron's tastes._

_Such is diplomacy! If this deceit of mine offends you, may I remind you that willing allies to our cause are not so numerous at this time. I urge you to welcome von Steuben, listen to what he recommends (though he speaks almost no English; plan accordingly), and allow him to believe that you indulge as he does. Have a young man at your side when you enact the charade, as that is the only way to ease his mind. Be sure the boy is pretty._

_Yr obt svt,_  
_B. Frank_

Hamilton passed his eyes over the short missive once, then again just to ensure he was not imagining the words that swam before him. He looked up from the page to find Washington sitting hunched with his half-gloved hands dangling between his knees.

"Well?" the General prompted.

"This is madness," Hamilton whispered. He stared down at the paper again. "Franklin— Perhaps he exaggerates?" He said this hopefully, knowing it was not true.

Washington confirmed his fears with a shake of his head. "If the fool has gone through the trouble of rushing this letter to me, then I believe it is as he says. My _god_." He stood again and, with some of his previous fire, paced the length of the canvas carpet. "That unrepentant old goat! That bulbous lump of gouty excess! His brain has rotted with all the rich foods and wine of Paris, and now he sends me an indecent scoundrel to plague my already taxed nerves!"

Hamilton wasted no time in considering their options, now that his mind had rallied. He placed the letter on a low table and said, "The Baron must speak French well enough to consort with Frenchmen. You will need an interpreter, sir."

"Only long enough to turn him away," Washington said, ceasing his paces to stand tall and aflame before Hamilton. "I cannot go through with such a ruse."

"But sir, if this man can render aid to our troops—"

Washington waved a hand. "I don't care if he arrives on a cart filled with fresh bread and muskets; I will not subject some unfortunate ensign to such degradation. No, Hamilton, it is impossible." He strode to the tent flap and, lifting it, looked out over the depressing sprawl of the camp. His stony countenance seemed to crack minutely, and he muttered, "Quite impossible."

Hamilton cleared his throat. "I understand your dislike for relations between high and low ranking soldiers, sir, but yours would not be rooted in any sort of truth. It would be for this von Steuben's benefit only."

"Even so, it is not a mission I can ask one of my men to undertake," Washington said into the gloomy dusk.

It occurred to Hamilton that the General should not need to ask. "What if one volunteers, sir?"

Washington shook his head and let the tent flap fall before turning back to Hamilton. "There is no one who would."

"Pardon me, sir, but that is untrue." Hamilton drew himself up to his full height, such as it was, and lifted his chin. He'd been called pretty before and only hoped the General agreed. "I am equal to the task."

Those impenetrable eyes stared into him for a long moment. "No."

"Sir, hear me out."

"I will not," Washington said. He moved about the tent with no apparent purpose but to remain in motion, his hands in fists at his sides. "It would be an inexcusable breach."

"We are the only ones who have read Franklin's words, sir," Hamilton barreled onward, holding the creased letter aloft. "No others need know. I could attend your meeting with von Steuben as your translator while also playing the role Franklin suggests. If we keep that gathering small, private, there will be no chance of scandal touching you."

Washington had completed one circuit of the tent and now turned back to Hamilton, livid. "You think I care of scandal?" he spat. "Congress and others are already dragging my name through the mud. They call me the architect of this miserable place, when, if they had provided the funds I'd been promised—" He cut off his diatribe; it was one that Hamilton had heard before, of course. "I would do whatever is necessary to help my men," Washington said, quieter but no less firm, "but I will not debase you, who have been so loyal to me, for the sake of some Prussian stranger."

"Sir…" Hamilton considered his words, then struck. "We need to find a way to turn the tide. Given the choice between Franklin's plan and starving to death in this valley, I would rather take our chances with the Prussian. If he can shape our men into proper soldiers, Congress might finally provide the funds we require."

At the mention of starvation, or perhaps Hamilton's mortality, Washington's resolve seemed to slip. He closed his eyes and turned away as if in pain. "That it has come to this…." His great shoulders quaked once, then turned once more to granite. "So be it. Tell no one of this. I will burn Franklin's letter myself."

"Thank you, sir," Hamilton breathed. He nearly reached out to offer a supporting hand to his General's arm, but, remembering himself, desisted from touching the man lest he become disgusted all over again at the prospect of taking him as a pretend lover. Hamilton clasped his hands behind his back and said, "I will let you get some rest, Your Excellency. It grows late."

And without waiting for a formal dismissal, Hamilton quit the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter the FLIMSIEST of pretexts! Though he is offstage for the duration, the role of B. Frank will be voiced by Edward James Olmos. 
> 
> I am on [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/), where you can certainly ask me who is playing other newly introduced roles and we can high five about it. Tell your friends about this particular piece of sin by [reblogging](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/post/139729865302/raise-our-false-flag-part-2) if you like. 
> 
> Ji and Poose, I couldn't have taken the hill without you.


	3. Chapter 3

Hamilton was seated on the floor of the farmhouse pantry eating a breakfast of tasteless firecake when Laurens appeared in the doorway and said, "A rider has just brought word. Baron von Steuben and his party should arrive tomorrow. Why are you sitting here in the dark, Ham?"

"I needed the quiet to think," Hamilton said, taking another bite of his meal. It was like eating paste, but at least it was food. Some of the men weren't so lucky. 

John joined him on the floor, their backs to the mostly empty shelves containing only a few precious jars of fruit preserves. "About the Baron?" 

He hummed in answer. Though he could not share his thoughts on his impending ruse with Washington, he could relay his fears as to the outcome. "All our hopes should not be pinned on one man alone, and yet—" 

"Alexander!" Lafayette's voice rang through the kitchen. "Have you heard? A rider—" Now his lean form occupied the doorway as he gazed down at them. "What are you two doing in here?" 

"Thinking. And yes, we've heard," John said, and beckoned in welcome. Lafayette took a place on the flagstones so that all three of them were lined up in a row, close in the cramped space. Hamilton grunted as he was forced to wriggle over a few inches to accommodate his friends. 

"There is an air of excitement among the rank and file," Lafayette reported. "Already they are telling tales of this Baron. All of them untrue, no?" 

Hamilton snorted and picked at his firecake. "Who's to say? Men love repeating rumors." He offered a morsel of his food first to John, who declined, then to Lafayette, who took it graciously. 

"Let us hope he proves useful," he said as he chewed.

One final figure filled the pantry doorway, nearly blotting out all the light that streamed in from the kitchen. "Hamilton," Washington said. The three of them struggled to stand at attention in that tiny room, but their General bade them not to with a simple gesture. "Remain, boys. I need only Hamilton at present."

Laurens and Lafayette stayed on the floor of their cozy nook while Hamilton stood and dusted off his breeches. "We were discussing future strategy, sir," he said, feeling the need to explain their position.

"Yes. It's a wonder you all fit," Washington said dryly. He cast his gaze around the small pantry. "My quarters. Now." He turned and left. 

John's mouth formed a small O while Lafayette mimed a noose around his own neck. Hamilton rolled his eyes at them and tossed the remainder of his firecake to John, who caught it deftly and stuffed it in his mouth. Hamilton left them there, the sound of Lafayette's affronted gasp following him out. 

Since occupying the Potts farmhouse as their base of operations, Washington had been given the master bedroom on the second floor. It was a modest affair, though that hardly mattered as the General was prone to working through the night in the dining room and stretching out on those floorboards to sleep for only an hour or so at a time. Hamilton had nearly tripped over His Excellency the night previous, having groped in the dark looking for a candle by which to write. 

Hamilton closed the door behind him and stood awaiting the General's instructions. For his part, Washington sat on the edge of the bed, then, perhaps thinking better of it, moved to sit in a straight-backed chair by the window. "The Baron arrives tomorrow," he said.

Hamilton nodded. "So Colonel Laurens informs me." 

"You are still determined to go through with this wretched ruse?" It was not really a question, but posed as one with a cautious tongue. 

"Yes, sir." Hamilton stood straighter. "It may not be such a terrible chore, sir." At Washington's sharp look, he quickly amended, "That is, there may be very little to do in the way of bolstering Franklin's insinuations. One word, a single gesture even, may be sufficient for our purposes."

"Yes, that is what I wished to discuss." Washington let out a heavy sigh, his hands spreading helplessly across his thighs. "Having never met the man, I do not know what von Steuben expects to find in a kindred spirit. Yet I believe if I am to present myself as a likeminded fellow, I will need to express a...familiarity which you have not allowed your commander thus far."

"Sir!" Hamilton protested, for he had kept Washington at arm's length out of respect and had never wanted the General to take offense.

Washington held up a hand. "This is not a criticism, Hamilton. You have always conducted yourself well with me. But whereas the Marquis and I have had many intimate conversations, and Colonel Laurens has welcomed a friendly word from time to time, you have kept yourself somewhat removed. I know nothing of your family, where you come from, what you dream of; I only know you are a capable young man who serves this country with fervor."

"Is that not enough, sir?" Hamilton had not meant for the words to fall from his lips in such a strangled tumble, but they did. Tears pricked at his eyes in his shame. If he had to tell the General about his birthplace— 

"Of course it is." Washington stood and, after a moment's hesitation, grasped Hamilton by the shoulder. "I have never found you wanting, son."

A moment's ease passed through Hamilton's soul at that. "Thank you, sir." 

"However." Washington's large hand fell and hung at his side. "If we are to convince the Baron of our supposed entanglement, we may need to—" He stopped, shook his head.

"Act as lovers would," Hamilton supplied. Just the thought of it, the formation of those words, put him in a strange mind. 

Washington paced back to his writing desk and affected interest in some papers there. "Yes, as you say. I will have to speak of you—and to you—in a familiar manner. Depending on what we observe of von Steuben's own actions, there may be a need for a physical demonstration. A simple touch, perhaps, but it will appear stilted given the truth of our relations," he said. 

"Not if we prepare ourselves, Your Excellency." 

A knowing eye caught his from across the room. "Yes, the thought had occurred to me as well." 

Feeling a bit light-headed, Hamilton gestured to the straight-backed chair. "Perhaps I should sit down so that you might—?" _Touch me as you will_ , his mind supplied, but his throat would not release the words. 

Washington demurred. "If we are to practice for this meeting, then I should be the one seated. You will be standing by my side to translate, will you not?"

Hamilton swallowed. "Just so, sir." 

The little wooden chair creaked under Washington's great bulk, and Hamilton took his place alongside, the both of them staring firmly ahead at the cornflower blue wallpaper and not at each other. 

"The Baron has said he requires no wages in return for his assistance," Washington said, shifting uneasily in his seat. "We shall have to determine in this meeting what, then, he hopes to achieve with his service." 

"I will broach the subject carefully, sir," Hamilton promised.

"Good, good." Washington reached up then, slowly, as if calming a wild horse, and entwined his rough, thick fingers in Hamilton's. Hamilton did not breathe. "Remember, also, not to react to any of his bombast. If even Franklin names von Steuben an eccentric, then he will speak quite outlandishly indeed." 

"He will not shock me, Your Excellency." 

"See that nothing does," Washington said, and brought Hamilton's fingertips to his lips. He kissed each one in turn, even the calloused thumb, with a sort of perfunctory adoration. 

Hamilton's teeth dug into the soft flesh inside his cheek to stifle his cry. 

"Again, so you grow accustomed to the sensation." The kisses were repeated, slower this time, each pad of Hamilton's fingers receiving the full embrace of that warm mouth. 

A trickle of hot sweat traveled down Hamilton's spine, but he did not balk. 

"Do you think," Washington murmured against his knuckles, "that this would be convincing enough?"

"Perhaps I should also be ready," Hamilton said shakily, "to lavish some affection on Your Excellency, should the Baron's companions behave in such a way in our company." They were, after all, French. 

"And how would you do that?" Washington asked, his deep, dark eyes sweeping up to meet Hamilton's. 

Hamilton's hand moved of its own volition, twisting gently out of Washington's grasp and coming to rest against his warm cheek. Hamilton stroked his commander's face, a gentle, reverent touch that continued down his strong neck and over the stark cloth of his cravat until his fingers rested atop that fine throat. "By your leave," he said, though it was too late to ask for such permission. 

He felt the apple of Washington's throat bob under his touch. "Hamilton—" he began. 

The rap at the bedroom door startled them both. Hamilton jumped an inch off the ground, while Washington was on his feet in an instant. They stared at each other and, perceiving no immediate evidence of what had just transpired, the General folded his hands behind his back and intoned, "Enter."

Laurens jostled inside, his arms full of papers. "The reports are ready for Philadelphia, sir, with your approval." He did not seem to suspect a thing, only giving Hamilton a friendly smile as their eyes met. 

Washington nodded toward his desk, where John deposited his burden. "Very good, son. Hamilton, we have worked as much as possible on this matter for today. You're dismissed."

Hamilton hurried out, hoping that his face would not betray his emotions to anyone he might meet in the corridors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the "hoo boy, guess we better practice being a couple!" chapter. You can talk to me on [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/) or in the comment, I love me some comments. 
> 
> Coming next: queerer things are yet to come. The Baron appears!


	4. Chapter 4

The following day, Hamilton sat astride his horse in the freezing wind alongside his fellow aides-de-camp to await the arrival of Baron von Steuben. He had taken great care at the washbasin that morning, tending to his long queue and neckerchief knot with more than his usual fastidiousness. Laurens had noticed, saying, "Saints alive, Ham, we are meeting with an ally, not wooing a girl."

For once, Hamilton had no retort. 

As he waited in formation on the ridge, Hamilton cast his gaze about: few troops had been mustered to join the welcoming party, as so many lay in their cots with injuries or sickness. The ones that did stand there appeared very ill indeed, and dirty, their patchy uniforms hanging from their gaunt frames in rags. Hamilton saw their Army now through the eyes of a newcomer, and he was ashamed. He prayed that von Steuben would not place the blame for this wholly on General Washington's shoulders, for the man had been doing all he could to remedy it.

Washington himself was at the head of the party seated on Nelson, his favorite mount. The white charger had the same temperament and courage under fire as its rider, and Hamilton took a moment to enjoy the sight of his commander on his handsome warhorse. Though the rest of his men appeared poorly turned-out, Washington at least remained Washington. 

After a half hour or so of shivering in the cold, Hamilton finally perceived a group of riders approaching, followed by a loaded baggage cart. Their leader was a giant of a man, matching even General Washington in size, and clothed in the most bizarre coat of lilac and lace. Washington turned his head and called for Hamilton to follow before spurring Nelson forward to meet them. 

The Baron and one of his party dismounted with a flourish, and so Washington and Hamilton followed suit. Hamilton watched in fascination as their new ally reached into a saddlebag and retrieved a very small dog, which he placed on the ground with a fond pat to its little head. The dog trotted at his heels as he approached them with arms outstretched. 

"So this is the famed General Washington! My good man, how wonderful it is to finally see you," von Steuben said in rapid-fire French. Hamilton translated as quickly as he could, a low murmur for Washington's ears. The Baron reached out and grasped Washington's face between both palms, planting a sound kiss on each cheek. This Washington weathered without complaint, as many Europeans, including Lafayette, had greeted him this way in the past. But then von Steuben grasped his hand, pumping it up and down with such shocking familiarity that the General could scarcely react at first. "I am deeply sorry for the delay; my boys and I were detained in Boston over some small misunderstanding. I tell you, sir, this war must be won and won quickly, for if I am barred from wearing a scarlet coat for the duration, I shall not survive long. That color becomes me so. Now! Tell me, how do your troops fare?" 

"He wants to know the state of the Army," Hamilton supplied. 

Recovering quickly, Washington continued shaking hands with the Baron and said, "Baron von Steuben, it is my pleasure to welcome you. I will happily inform you of every detail of our Army as soon as you have had a chance to rest from your long journey." He turned to Hamilton and placed a hand on his slim shoulder. "May I present my...cupbearer, if you will? Colonel Alexander Hamilton possesses fluent French, and so I have asked him to act as translator between us." 

Hamilton stumbled over the word 'cupbearer' but managed to inject a suitable amount of erotic insinuation with a quick swipe of his tongue over his lower lip. The Baron nodded in approval and beckoned his own companion forward. The young man was, as Franklin had promised, exceedingly beautiful with his dancing, dark eyes and delicately arranged hair. Hamilton resisted the urge to smooth his own queue, certain that the wind had made a mess of it. 

"And I must introduce you to my secretary, who is quite indispensable to me. Pierre Etienne Du Ponceau here speaks a gorgeous sort of English, and will accompany us in our talks." 

Hamilton shook hands with Du Ponceau and the two exchanged a many-tongued greeting. 

"And who is this?" Washington asked with soft amusement, looking down at the little speckled dog that was currently sniffing at his riding boots. 

Pierre translated, and the Baron gave a happy gasp and swept the pup into his arms, where it shivered and quaked. "This is our Azor! Do not be fooled, he is quite mature in age. They grow them small in Italy. He comes with me wherever I travel. Do you enjoy dogs, General?" 

"I harbor a great fondness for the hounds I keep at home," Washington said. He reached to scratch Azor behind his velveteen ears, and the dog yipped cheerfully. "I have been toying with the idea of purchasing a spaniel of some kind as a companion for my wife. Would this breed suit her, do you think?"

The Baron's eyes lit with pure joy. "The Italian greyhound is unmatched in providing company to lonely wives. Just ask Pierre, who keeps the dog when I must take to the battlefield." 

After a moment spared for translation, they all shared a warm laugh, even the General, who was not lately prone to merriment. Hamilton could not help but marvel at the sight: two, perhaps three minutes in Valley Forge and already this von Steuben had changed their entire outlook. 

They rode back toward camp together, the General and the Baron chatting through their two young men, the pup Azor poking his pointed head from a saddlebag. 

"I have arranged an evening meal tonight, just the two of us and our respective translators," Washington said as they neared the log huts. "We could begin discussing our plans then, if you are amenable." 

"My dear General," the Baron answered, "nothing would please me more. May I supply the wine? It would be my honor."

"How kind, please do."

Hamilton breathed a sigh of relief. Only a single bottle of claret remained in the farmhouse, and not one of very good quality. It would have been shameful indeed if it accompanied the roast suckling pig that Lafayette had somehow conjured for their dinner.

After the Baron and his companions had been situated in a log hut that had been erected for that purpose, the meeting commenced as planned in the farmhouse library. The smallish room had nothing much to recommend it except a heavy door with a sturdy lock, which Washington turned after giving orders to Laurens that they should not be disturbed. The meal was presented informally in the absence of a dining table; cuts of roasted pork and fresh cheeses were piled on a platter alongside a few slices of warm bread and dollops of spiced jams, to be eaten picnic-style in hand. Two overstuffed chairs were arranged facing each other with a low table between, which held the repast and the cut glass goblets for the Baron's French wine. The Baron poured a measure of this for General Washington, who, after a sip, pronounced it excellent. 

Hamilton and Pierre Etienne stood beside their respective commanders, ready to offer a translation or a clarification to the other's interpretations. Von Steuben directed Pierre to fetch two more goblets from the sideboard. The secretary did so, and the Baron poured more wine. "The boys deserve a drink, no? Listening to old men drone on builds a thirst." He gave one cup to Pierre, then reached out to offer the other to Hamilton.

Hamilton looked to Washington for direction in this unusual circumstance, and the General gestured for him to take it. He did so, thanking the Baron very formally. The wine proved excellent indeed, warm and tart. 

The Baron continued in his fast French. "Please do not think me rude when I say, dear General, that I have observed the condition of your troops today and I am very concerned." He helped himself to a slice of cheese. "If I may offer my thoughts on possible improvements…?"

"Yes, do so. Only understand that my resources are so limited, we may be hampered in what we can accomplish," Washington warned. The two men spoke at length on the subject, outlining basic needs that must first be met—mended clothing, suitable shoes, fresh supplies—before moving on to the best manner in which to begin formal training for the soldiers. Hamilton's skill at translation was tested, as both men proved to be well-matched, decisive in their speech and quick in their answers. Hamilton's throat became parched from all his talking, and soon he found he had drained his glass of wine. 

"Come, Alexander, drink up. I have brought many bottles," von Steuben said, leaning over to refill his cup. 

Hamilton caught Washington's eye, and at the meaningful incline of his commander's head, he spoke with caution. "Thank you, Baron. If I may, sir, it seems to me that many men would happily remain where good wine and better food can be enjoyed at leisure. And yet you ventured here. While I'm grateful for it, I can't help but find it odd." 

"Ah," said the Baron, pouring more wine for Washington as well. "You wonder what I am after, no?" He gazed up at Pierre Etienne, who hid his coy smile behind his wineglass. "Europe has become a bore. Perhaps I am foolish for rushing into a fight that is not mine, and yet, where else might I enjoy such an adventure? That is all I desire." He plucked a slice of roast meat from the platter and offered it to Pierre, who ate it daintily from his hand. "My darling, you have been standing here for hours. Are you not tired?"

Pierre answered in his silky French, "A little. May I sit, sir?" 

"If General Washington thinks we are done with the important business of war for the time being, we may allow ourselves to unwind. Alexander?" 

Hamilton translated for the General, who nodded with easy grace. "Tell your secretary he may relax for the moment." 

Pierre folded himself onto the rug at his master's feet and allowed the Baron to continue feeding him morsels of food. Hamilton noted the friendly hand that Pierre laid on the Baron's strong thigh, which stroked up and down the length of his breeches. The tableau was altogether indecent, and yet he could not betray even the slightest twitch of discomfort at the sight. 

The problem now, Hamilton saw, was how to match the Baron's mood. He glanced down at Washington, whose wide eyes and harried expression made clear that his commander had no idea how to accomplish this. Well, Hamilton had never been one to back away from a challenge, no matter how far from his experience it may be. 

He cleared his throat and said in English, "Your Excellency, may I ask your leave to recline as well?" _Say yes_ , his eyes begged. 

"Of course," Washington said with a strange gruffness, and Hamilton did not hesitate. He draped himself across his commander's lap, his legs dangling over one thigh, and wound his arm 'round Washington's neck to keep steady. 

"Forgive me," he whispered in the General's ear. "He expects to see—"

"It's all right," Washington murmured in return, and laid one large hand on Hamilton's knee to hold him in place. He cleared his throat and addressed the Baron, who was currently gifting Pierre kisses in between bites of bread slathered in jam. "Has your secretary been with you long?" 

The subject himself answered, "A year or two, and perhaps many more if Friedrich does not tire of me." He repeated this in French for the Baron's benefit, who chuckled. 

"I would never tire of you, pet. And yourself, General?" von Steuben asked. "When did you discover your delightful sprite?" 

Washington held Hamilton's gaze once his translation was complete as if wishing to impart the need for Hamilton's readiness. "Soon after the war began." He picked up Hamilton's hand, small in Washington's own, and slowly lifted it to his lips just as they'd practiced. "He has been a balm to me ever since. In so many ways." He kissed the tip of Hamilton's index finger, then, straying from their careful plan, took that digit between his lips and bit it gently between his teeth. 

Hamilton's translation of his commander's words suffered from his lack of breath, but he got the words out in the end. 

Baron von Steuben drank the dregs of his wine and handed the glass down to Pierre, who took up the task of opening a new bottle to fill it. Three empty bottles now lined the table. It occurred to Hamilton that they had all had much to drink. 

"Alexander, forgive me if I sound indelicate," the Baron said, his smile wide and impish, "but could you ask the good General if he has ever considered sharing you with another? Or perhaps," he stroked a thick-fingered hand through Pierre's artful curls, "affecting some kind of trade?" 

Hamilton could not make himself translate the offer for Washington. His tongue, caressed by the wine, had become useless in his mouth. Pierre's gaze riveted itself to Washington's full lips, which were still paying tribute to Hamilton's fingers. He seemed intrigued by the idea of enjoying that attention too and shot Hamilton a beguiling smile. Hamilton's hand tightened behind Washington's neck in response.

"Hamilton?" His commander ceased his sweet tortures and looked at him strangely. "What has the Baron said?"

"He—" Hamilton swallowed, dropping his gaze to Washington's broad chest. "He wants to know if you would give me over to him." 

For a moment, Washington's face was slack with confusion. Then, as understanding flooded in, his arms came to wrap around Hamilton with great force, holding him so close that Alexander found his lips pressed to the General's racing pulse. One heavy hand rested on the back of his head, tangling at the base of his clubbed hair. The breath left Hamilton's lungs in a low gasp, the consequence of being captured by such a power.

"Monsieur Du Ponceau." Washington's voice rumbled through Hamilton's whole frame with a fierceness that bordered on a snarl. "Please inform the Baron that I cannot grant his request. Not now, not ever, under any circumstances."

A few strands of hair had worked loose from his queue, and Hamilton peered through these to observe Pierre tipping his face up to relay the words to von Steuben. But the Baron just laughed, saying, "I do not need a translation to understand his answer. I should have known Zeus would be so protective of his Ganymede! Alexander, extend my apologies if you please. I beg the General's forgiveness for my impertinent curiosity."

Hamilton whispered these words in English against Washington's warm neck, his hand grasping for purchase at Washington's faultless cravat. After a moment, he was released from that tight embrace. He leaned back into his previous position and watched his commander's face carefully for any sign that their deception was at an end, for surely Washington would never look him in the eye again.

And yet he did, steadily and with characteristic resolve. "Let the Baron know I do not take offense, and that the...violence of my reaction is only because of my great regard for you," Washington said. A light flush suffused his handsome face at these words, and Hamilton, shifting in Washington's lap, perceived the telltale hardness beneath him. Despite all his promises to remain unmoved tonight, Hamilton's mouth fell open and his heart stopped in his chest. 

"Your Excellency…." Before he could think better of it, his hand cupped the General's cheek as he had the previous night. Their mouths, he realized, were very close.

"Ah, they are having a moment," Pierre said to the Baron in French, for lack of another translator. "The General remains your friend; he is merely driven mad with want for this one." 

"How lovely!" von Steuben cried, and raised his glass. "Bless these boys of ours who keep us young!"

"We should drink. It's a toast," Hamilton said quietly. 

Washington tore his gaze away and reached for his glass. "Just so. To you, Baron," he said. 

Hamilton recovered his own cup and lifted it. "To liberty," he said in French, "and the liberties we take." 

"Oh, I like that. Very clever," Pierre said, and they drained their glasses once more. 

When all the wine was drunk and the candles burned low, the Baron helped Pierre to his feet and, giggling, they swayed toward the exit. "Thank you for such an illuminating evening, my dear General," von Steuben said. "I must now see this naughty thing to bed." 

Washington lifted Hamilton off his lap as if he weighed no more than a feather, then assisted the Baron in conquering the lock on the door. His ardor appeared to have waned somewhat, for Hamilton could perceive no indecent bulge in his breeches. "Pleasant dreams," he said as they left. Then, closing the door once more, he turned to Hamilton. "Son—" he began, his voice bereft of his usual assurity. 

"I believe that was quite a success, sir," Hamilton said before he could finish. He moved nervously about the room, collecting goblets and grouping them on the low table. "The Baron seems to suspect nothing. He declares his only motivation is a thirst for adventure, and I am inclined to believe him. Also his plans for the Army's training are sound; this may prove an excellent advantage for us."

"Hamilton, be quiet a moment," Washington said, and Hamilton's feet and mouth stopped altogether. The General took a deep breath and folded his hands behind his back. "My actions tonight—my _reactions_ —were not becoming."

"Your Excellency, you did what you had to in service of our ruse," Hamilton insisted. "I cannot hold that against you. I did the same. As for your body's responses—" The wine roared through his veins, making him hot all over. "You are a man, sir, like any other in this respect. I sometimes forget that. But we are all at the mercy of certain reactions; I do not attach any meaning to it." How could he, when his General had made it so clear how he abhorred this situation? It had not been Hamilton himself that had made his commander yearn so; it may have been any warm body, seated in such a way. 

"Yes, of course." Washington turned to open the curtains and gaze out into the night sky. "With any luck, this will be the only time we need perform for the Baron. From now on, we will all be about our business. There will be no opportunity for more of these dalliances, I think."

"Oh." Hamilton shook himself. "As you say, sir. God willing."

"Get some sleep, Hamilton," Washington said. He lifted one strong forearm to rest above his head against the windowpane and kept his eyes on the dark outside. "I will see you in the morning."

Hamilton cast one last look at the General before moving to the door. "Good night, sir," he said, and left to find his bedroll. 

Laurens was already occupying it when he stumbled into their shared room, but this was not so unusual. The nights were cold and Laurens insisted that Hamilton was warmer than any other in their company. He roused as Hamilton slipped in beside him, enough to say, "How do you find von Steuben? Is the General pleased?"

"All is well," Hamilton choked out. "Go back to sleep." 

"I will take the blue chicken," Lafayette, who was stretched out nearby, muttered in French.

"He's talking in his sleep again," John whispered. "My god, Ham, you're hot as a coal. Are you feverish?" His chilled hands slipped under the collar of Hamilton's shirt and pressed shivers into his overheated skin.

"I had too much wine. Now shush." Hamilton curled close to John and let him pillow his head on his shoulder. At this brotherly tenderness, John slipped back into slumber with ease, his snores light and fine. 

Hamilton stayed awake for many more hours, staring at the stark ceiling above them and thinking of General Washington, alone in his bed upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the delicious suffering of the We Must Perform act of the fake relationship. Mmmmm. Hope you liked it! Love chatting in the comments, love hearing from you on [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Comments my esteemed beta readers left on this chapter which made me LOL include  
> Poose: boner of our country  
> Ji: the peak of Mount Vernon


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note on the new tags: this chapter has some bummer stuff in it because Valley Forge. So there's canon-typical animal death; they've resorted to eating their horses at this point. And there are mentions of suicide. Just be aware because I love you and I want you to be safe.

Standing 'round the large circular working table in the farmhouse dining room, the staff listened intently as Baron von Steuben, newly dubbed Inspector General, cautioned Washington about the shape of their future war.

"Things now are shit," he said in his loose French, "but more shit is coming. Two feet of shit will become five. If we can dig through the five, we can win."

Hamilton turned to Washington. "Things will get worse before they get better," he translated. 

On the other side of the room, Lafayette raised an approving brow at this interpretation. Hamilton gave him a one-shoulder shrug. Acting as conduit between the two men was simple compared to the task of ignoring what had transpired with Washington the other evening. Their conversations since the incident had been stilted, strange, lacking the like-mindedness—however formal—their previous dealings had possessed. Even now, when Hamilton met his commander's gaze, he felt set aflame in body and mind. He was certain all could perceive this change, but so far, no one had mentioned a thing. 

Washington, of course, was as cool as ever. He tapped his fingertips on the leather cover of his almanac and nodded gravely. "I agree, Inspector General. This winter may prove brutal. Talk of desertion has grown from a whisper to a shout. The men who have escaped disease thus far are nonetheless weary, and supplies from Philadelphia have been delayed yet again. What can be done?"

"You know as I do, dear General, that more than god-damned bullets and bread, our soldiers need this." The Baron beat his fist against his barrel chest right over his heart. "Their spirits, sir! We must encourage them to remain strong here, where it matters. I will give them hard fucking work but also reward them for it." 

Hamilton provided a more polite translation, and Washington nodded. "Yes. The men deserve some distraction from their toil. An entertainment, perhaps?"

From his place in the corner, Laurens straightened. "Do you not possess a book of plays among your effects, Your Excellency?" he asked. "With your leave, I could choose one and copy out the parts for the players. The men may enjoy that diversion." 

"Very good, Colonel. Organize the entire affair, but be sure it is done within three days. Otherwise, temperatures may prevent us from enjoying anything out of doors." 

"The General has ordered us to put on a play. Apparently he has a book of them," Hamilton said in French for von Steuben's benefit. 

"Excellent. I don't suppose one should hope for a lighthearted comedy?" the Baron asked. Across the room, Lafayette developed an awful coughing fit, and Laurens had to cover his mouth to hide his smile. "Ah well. We must work with what God has given us. If it is one of the classics, tell your General I have always wanted to play Mars."

It was not, it turned out, a classical play but a very modern one, written by an American but set in the era of the Roman Empire. "It is the General's favorite," John told Hamilton as they undressed for bed that night. "Perhaps I could entice you to take a part, Alexander?"

"I'm afraid my duties have increased tenfold since the Baron's arrival." Hamilton shook his hair loose from its queue. His hands ached from copying out the Inspector General's manual for troop movements. "I haven't the time to eat, let alone memorize lines."

"Just as well. We have little food, and you are too short to play the hero," Lafayette quipped from his bedroll. This was how it was with them now; only the blackest humor provided any sort of consolation. 

Hamilton proceeded to smother his friend with a wadded bundle of his unwashed clothing. "What does height matter when I can do this?" he laughed, straddling Lafayette's bucking hips. John lent a hand in his revenge, which Hamilton found very decent of him. They finally relented when Lafayette begged for mercy. 

"Terrible sprite," Lafayette muttered after they had all caught their breath, and for a moment, Hamilton's heart froze at the word von Steuben had called him as he sat astride Washington's lap. He crawled into his bedroll in a worse mood than he had left it, knowing he would probably never again enjoy such a privilege.

The day of the planned entertainment dawned crisp and cool, but with enough bright sunlight to allow for relative comfort. Laurens had directed split logs to be arranged as benches before a low, rough stage, and it was on one of these benches at the front of the audience that Washington bade Hamilton to sit. 

"The Baron has Du Ponceau beside him, ostensibly to translate," he murmured in Hamilton's ear, nodding to the pair down the row. "I thought it only natural that we sit together as well."

"Excellent thinking, sir." He arranged himself on Washington's right side, where the Baron would have a good view of them. Indeed, von Steuben soon noticed and gave a cheerful salute in their direction, which Hamilton returned.

Hamilton pulled his heavy cloak tighter about his frame and craned his neck 'round to observe the audience. The infantrymen chattered gaily as they filed in, seeming very excited to be in attendance, a development that pleased Hamilton. He'd been unsure if the men would have any interest in this sort of frivolity, but he supposed if Washington had made time for it, anyone could. 

He spotted John beside the stage, positioning the makeshift togas he'd fashioned from bed linens over the uniformed actors. Before he could call a greeting to his friend, Lafayette slid into the empty spot on his right, though it was not much of a spot to begin with. 

"Can you move over just a little, my dear Ham? Your Excellency, I'm looking forward to seeing this play of yours," he said, and Hamilton was obliged to press himself even closer to Washington's side. 

"It belongs more to Laurens than I today. Hamilton," he said suddenly, "have you seen it before?" 

"I'm sorry to say I have not, Your Excellency." 

"Perhaps it is not to your tastes. Do you have a favorite play?" he asked. 

Hamilton hesitated. He had seen plays in New York, but they were collegial productions, simple morality tales or reenactments of famous legal battles. He had once attended an outdoor performance of Macbeth, but it had been interrupted in the middle of Act One by protesters who called it excessively British. Otherwise, his limited funds and social circle had hampered his exposure to any art. 

Yet he could not admit as much. "Too many to mention, sir," he said. 

"Ah, a true connoisseur," Lafayette chuckled, and Hamilton was about to pinch his thigh in an effort to silence him, but was saved by the musicians, who struck up a fine opening tune with fife, drum, and fiddle.

The play, _Cato_ , was a tragedy, and it soon became clear to Hamilton why it appealed to the General so. It dealt with war, with liberty, with ideals, and with a military leader who was persecuted on all sides as well as by his own sense of honor. John had apparently noticed the similarities as well, for he had chosen a lead actor who, despite his youth, bore a passing resemblance to Washington. Hamilton kept sneaking glances at his commander during the performance to gauge his reaction to this, but his profile revealed nothing except a perfect stalwart. 

During the climactic scene, as Cato plunged a sword into his own breast, Hamilton heard a sniffle to his right, and he turned to find Lafayette struggling to maintain his composure. Tears were rolling down his cheeks freely, and his long eyelashes were wet with them. 

"Come, Lafayette, the acting is not _that_ terrible," he whispered, but his friend would not allow the jest. 

"I cannot help but think, the General—" He shook his head. "I could not bear it if we lost him."

A steely horror cut through at Hamilton then; the thought of Washington taking his own life was too terrible to contemplate. He hissed, "We will not. He would never." 

"He would," Lafayette whispered, "if he thought it would save us." He nodded at the stage, indicating Cato's own motivations. 

"What has come over Lafayette?" Washington murmured in his other ear. 

Hamilton licked his cold lips, foolishly making them colder. "He is very moved by the play, Your Excellency." 

"I see." His voice was quiet, fond, and he lifted one arm from the folds of his greatcoat and passed it behind Hamilton so that he could lay a comforting palm at the base of Lafayette's neck. Hamilton held his breath tight in his lungs; he could feel Washington's arm heavy against his back, almost as if he were holding them both within his great reach. 

"Thank you, sir," Lafayette said, though he wept still and continued weeping until the play drew to a close. Washington, too, did not cease his attentions until then, and his warmth was like a brand searing through the layers of Hamilton's clothes for all that time.

______________________

Baron von Steuben's predictions proved true in the days following the play. A vicious ice storm crawled slowly through the valley, rendering the roads impassable and plunging the camp in a deep misery. Nothing could keep the freezing cold at bay, and the sick and the injured died in droves. The frozen ground prevented the digging of graves, so the General had no choice but to order the bodies be placed in one of the log huts, which became their de facto morgue. Hamilton sat wrapped in two cloaks astride his horse and watched the dreary parade of stretchers bearing corpses toward that place.

"So this is five feet of shit," Laurens said from beside him. His horse twitched and danced in place, not liking the smell of death.

"Let us hope this is five," Lafayette sighed from his own mount. "I do not think we can take much more."

Hamilton had nothing to add. The three of them had not eaten since yesterday, and he expected to spend that night like the past two, huddled with his friends for a warmth that would not come. Hardship was nothing new to him, but Laurens and Lafayette? The sight of their hungry eyes and bloodless lips hurt him deeply. He had done what he could, scrounging extra stockings for John to layer over his legs, convincing Lafayette to eat his last bite of salt pork. But it was not enough.

Valley Forge was the furthest thing from the glory of war that Hamilton had ever seen. 

"Come," Hamilton said, turning his horse north toward the stables. "His Excellency will have begun his inspection of the cavalry's stock by now." 

The trio came upon Washington outside the farmhouse, where about two dozen sick horses were laid across the ground in a row. Several members of the staff, including the Inspector General and his companions, were already present, shaking their heads at the sight. A young stable hand was gesturing to the poor beasts and speaking to the General with profound apology. "I've done all I can, sir," he was saying as they trotted up, "but there's no more feed to be had anyway." 

Washington took in the line of dying chargers. Ice clung to his greatcoat where it fell in small, hard pellets. His face seemed hewn of marble, and Hamilton wondered if it would be as cold if he touched it. "You are not at fault, son," Washington told the boy. "Just be sure the end is quick for them. And do not waste any of the meat."

"Sir." The boy picked up an axe and moved to the first horse in line, a panting bay. Its breath steamed from its huge nostrils, and its eyes rolled wildly to the Heavens. When the axe fell, the animal let out a piercing cry so familiar, Hamilton could have sworn it was human. 

He had not looked away from the horror, and neither had Washington, even when a few drops of the beast's blood sprayed onto the toe of his riding boot. The General merely bowed his head for a moment, then mounted his white horse, which had been standing at the ready in the knot of riders. 

"Sir?" Hamilton asked, but Washington spurred his Nelson into a canter and disappeared into the treeline without a word to anyone. Hamilton looked to his companions for an explanation and received only blank stares. "Should someone follow?" 

"I would not," Lafayette murmured, and Laurens agreed, "Give him room to think, Ham." 

"Alexander," the Baron called, and Hamilton directed his horse to that man's side.

"Yes, Inspector General?"

"Will you go to him?" he asked in a rather discreet whisper. "This has been a most trying day, and I fear your beloved General will not allow the company of anyone but his favorite, no?"

Hamilton glanced back at his two friends, but they had turned from the slaughter and were already nudging their horses away. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to check on the General, as doing so would further support their ruse, after all. "Yes, of course. I will find him." 

The Baron gave an approving nod, and Hamilton rode into the woods where Washington had vanished. 

The ground held an inch of frost, which preserved Nelson's tracks distinctly. Hamilton followed their winding path through the trees until he came upon the charger, riderless and lipping at a few straggly pine needles. Hamilton caught the horse's reins in his gloved hand and looked about for Washington. 

"Where has he gone?" he asked, then, with eyes narrowed at the mute Nelson, "Why am I asking you?"

Nelson whickered peevishly, but he followed as Hamilton led him further into the woods. The General's bootprints now provided his only map. The horses picked their way over bramble and fallen saplings until Hamilton perceived the black shape of Washington's greatcoat looming ahead in the wintry air. He nearly called out to His Excellency, but as he moved closer and the sight took shape, he was rendered as speechless as Nelson himself. 

Washington had fallen to one knee on the snowy ground as if to genuflect in prayer, yet his hands were not clasped together, his eyes were not raised to the sky. Instead, his palms covered his face, and his great shoulders heaved with what could only be terrible, silent sobs. 

For a moment, Hamilton considered turning back to camp to leave the man to his grief. This was a scene of private weakness to which he should not have been privy; but how could he abandon Washington in that state when his heart broke to see him so distraught? 

He dismounted and looped the reins of both horses loosely about some tree limb, not masking the crunch of his boots on the icy ground. He approached with great care, somehow fearful of what he might find in Washington's face. "Sir?" he said when he was within arm's length. 

The General lifted his head and showed Hamilton his tears. He was beautiful even in his grief, the planes of his noble visage drawn and wet, his reddened eyes searching, his lips parted in pain. "Hamilton?" He closed his eyes, another tear escaping down his cheek. "You should not be here," he said. "You should not be a witness to this." 

"Forgive me, I—" Hamilton thought to reach out and touch the General's shoulder, and this time he could not keep himself from offering the small gesture to his commander. His gloved fingers curled over the ice-stiff cloth of his greatcoat. "The Baron encouraged me to follow you."

"Ah, yes. My supposed lover would not allow me to carry this burden alone, would he?" Washington gave a sharp laugh, mirthless and hollow, his eyes trained on the empty woods in front of him. "You have fulfilled your role for today, Hamilton. Return to camp and leave me be." 

"Sir," Hamilton said, his heart cracking into further splinters, "I would rather not." His hand stole from Washington's shoulder down his arm, finally clasping their gloved fingers into a freezing knot. He went to one knee on the cold ground before Washington and held his tearful gaze. 

For a long time, they stared and breathed their iced breaths, until Washington finally whispered, "My men are dying. I cannot save them no matter what I do." Tears spilled afresh from his dark eyes. "The odds have seemed impossible before, and yet for the first time, I think we cannot win."

"No, sir, you mustn't say that," Hamilton said in a rush. "Without your resolve, without your grace— Without _you_ —" Lafayette's words from before, at that damned play, flickered into his mind: a sudden series of pictures overlaid one on top of the other, Hamilton's own cousin as he found him, swinging bloated from the end of a rope; the General dead on the ground with a dagger buried in his chest. His lungs seized the air from his throat at the thought. "Do not lose heart, sir," he choked out, "please."

"Hamilton—" Washington wrapped an arm 'round him and crushed him to his chest, where, if any tears fell at all, they would be muffled in his heavy coat. Hamilton felt his hat tumble to the ground, and Washington pressed his face against the crown of his head. They stayed like that, frozen in a desperate embrace, for an unknown length of time. 

When Washington finally untangled them, he held Alexander at arm's length and said, "Please forgive me, Hamilton; I allowed doubt to creep into my soul, if only for a moment. You are right. We can win, we must win, if we do not weaken." 

"Yes, sir." Hamilton scrubbed his forearm across his damp face, hoping he was not too much a mess. "As I've said before, I sometimes forget that you are a mortal like any other man. Of course you should be allowed such moments, so long as you do not falter in the end." 

Washington raised a brow. "That sounds suspiciously like an order, Colonel."

"Here is another." Hamilton gestured to their horses. "It grows dark, and I insist Your Excellency return with me to camp post haste so that you may take some much-needed rest." 

A bark of near-laughter escaped Washington's lips. "Some day, Hamilton, when you allow your commander the privilege, I would like to know exactly how you developed such a fortified constitution. Of all of us, you seem to be weathering this calamity best." 

Hamilton took a deep breath. "I will tell you, sir, if you agree to a full night's sleep," he said. 

The General stood and produced a linen handkerchief with which to wipe his eyes. "An intriguing proposition. Let us return, then," he said, and helped Hamilton to his feet before offering the piece of cloth to him. Hamilton declined it, uncertain if he could bear such an intimacy, even after what they'd just shared. 

It was dark by the time they handed their horses over to the care of a bleary-eyed stableboy, and the farmhouse was fairly silent when they entered. Only one set of footsteps could be heard in the corridor, the sound growing as it neared them. The Baron appeared in the foyer and sighed in obvious relief. "I was about to send out a boy to search for you two," he said, his French as fast as his feet. 

"My apologies, Inspector General. I did not intend to cause you worry," Hamilton said. 

Von Steuben waved a hand expansively through the air. "You brought him back to us; that is enough. General Washington, my dear sir, I do hope your darling paramour did not allow you to venture too far into the frigid wilderness." 

"The Baron inquires after your wellbeing, sir. He worries that the cold may have leeched into you," Hamilton translated. 

"I am well, thank you, Inspector General." Washington swung his greatcoat from his shoulders, scattering pieces of clinging ice to melt on the woven foyer rug. "Fortunately, we have Colonel Hamilton to ensure that I always find my way." He bent his head and pressed his cool, dry lips to Hamilton's own, as easy as anything. 

Hamilton struggled not to betray his shock at the swift kiss. "His Excellency wrongly credits me with his continued good health," he said in French in a voice that would not, could not waver. "In truth, the cold cannot touch him."

Baron von Steuben clapped a hand to Hamilton's shoulder. "Would that every man could find a lover as constant as you are for your General, Alexander. Good night to you both." And with that, he swept out of the farmhouse, presumably to return to his hut. 

"Hamilton," Washington said as soon as they were alone. 

A creak of a stair, followed by the slam of a door upstairs, stole Hamilton's attention. He looked 'round but saw nothing. "Did you hear that, sir?"

"Do not prevaricate," the General admonished. "I merely wish to explain myself."

"Sir, there is nothing to explain. The Baron expects a certain amount of affection between us, and you correctly provided it at a crucial point." 

"Yes. Though I did not mean to presume—" 

"It is your right to do so," Hamilton said. Wishing the conversation to come to an end so that he might not hear Washington say yet again how little he cared for their ruse, Hamilton gestured to the staircase. "There is still our bargain, sir: my small tale for your promised rest."

"Ah. Of course." Washington led the way, unsurprisingly, to his quarters. It was the logical place for him to sleep, yes, but Hamilton shivered to remember what had transpired in that room when last he'd seen it. 

A fire awaited the General in the fireplace, crackling against the persistent chill. Washington sat upon the bed to tug his riding boots free, saying, "Am I to finally be given some crumbs of your mysterious past, Hamilton? Neither Lafayette nor Laurens have been able to furnish that information to me." 

Why the General had been inquiring about his background, Hamilton did not know. He supposed it only natural that Washington be concerned; after all, the entirety of his staff, with the exception of Hamilton, came from families that were either wealthy, well-known, or both. "Laurens and Lafayette do not know it, Your Excellency," he admitted. 

The greatcoat was discarded over the back of a chair along with the buff and blue cutaway coat, the officer's sash, the fine waistcoat. Washington frowned as he worked at his cravat. "If you would rather keep mum, I will not persist." 

"That's quite all right, sir. At any rate, you should be privy to some details should the Baron make inquiries." Needing something to busy his hands while he spoke, Hamilton gathered the General's still-warm clothing from the chair and set about folding the items into the corner armoire. "You wonder how I have managed to remain calm in the face of this valley's great test of our spirits. In truth, this is not the first time I have suffered such things. I was born on a small island in the West Indies…." And as he moved restlessly about the room, the entire story poured out of him: his absent father, the epidemic, his subsequent orphaning, the slave ships, the hurricane, and finally the town's charity that allowed him passage to New York. Though he dreaded meeting Washington's eyes through the ordeal, a strange sense of eagerness overtook him as he told the tale. It was the first time, he realized, that he'd ever shared it in whole. It was as if the weight of it begged to be released, and in doing so, he felt a lightness in his heart he rarely enjoyed. 

"So you see, sir," he said as he closed the drapes,"this hardship is but one in a long line for me. Though you do me a great kindness in supposing that I am able to marshall my fears better than the others, I do not think it so. Only, I have had more practice at hiding them."

Taking a deep breath, he finally looked to his commander. Washington had stripped down to his shirt and taken refuge in bed, where he sat up against his pillows, staring at Hamilton with inscrutable eyes. 

"Hamilton," he said slowly, "if ever you hesitated to impart this story because you thought it would bring you shame, know that it is the opposite. I will be ever grateful for the string of events, however horrific, that brought you here to us. That you came from such a place is a testament to your strength of character, not a deficit." 

Hamilton swallowed and stood at attention. His heart was swollen in his chest, fighting to be out of him. "Thank you, sir. I will leave you to your rest now."

"Son—" Washington seemed at a loss for how to continue, and Hamilton was forced to wait patiently. He noticed with idle interest that the General had occupied only the far left side of the bed, as if leaving a space for another beside him. A habit of married life, he mused. 

"Would you consider staying?" Washington finally asked. 

Hamilton blinked. "Do you have some other task for me, Your Excellency?" 

"No, not— That is, to sleep." He indicated the comparatively large bed. 

Though his ears had heard the words and his brain had divined their meaning, Hamilton could still not fathom them. "To sleep… _here_ , sir?" 

"As a measure to further convince the Inspector General, of course," Washington said hurriedly. "Nothing more."

"Nothing more," Hamilton repeated. Then, recovering his wits, "I do not think even the Baron would expect the General's lover to flaunt their affair so boldly. I would be missed in my quarters, sir."

"You're right, of course." Washington examined a small defect in the coverlet with great interest. "Forgive me; this day has worn me into forgetfulness. Sleep well, Hamilton."

"And you, sir." He snuffed the last remaining candle and quit the room, closing the door softly behind him. 

Hamilton had not taken five steps before Laurens swarmed into view from 'round the corner of the hallway. 

"John! You nearly gave me a fit," he hissed, heart pounding. "Why are you lurking so?"

"What are you doing with His Excellency, Ham?" John rejoined. 

Hamilton drew back, hopeful that the dark corridor would conceal his flushed face. "I don't know what you mean. I had some small business to discuss with the General before I sought sleep, that is all."

"I saw you. Talking with von Steuben. In the foyer." John's jaw worked in consternation. "General Washington kissed you."

"A mere pleasantry," Hamilton whispered. 

"My French is as good as yours, you know. I heard what the Baron said. He named you His Excellency's paramour." That beloved face, so handsome when in good cheer, was now contorted with an unnamed pain. "It was a lover's kiss."

Hamilton slumped. "John—" Thinking better of hashing this out in the middle of a hallway, he grabbed his friend by the wrist and pulled him downstairs and into the library, empty at this time of night. Hamilton shut the heavy door before continuing. "It is not what it seems. His Excellency and I are required to present a false front to the Baron for political reasons." For the second time that night, Hamilton detailed a long story, albeit a more recent one. He finished his explanation of Franklin's ploy, saying, "Whatever affection General Washington has shown me has been for von Steuben's benefit only. I am not his lover, for in reality, he would not have me."

Something in his voice must have betrayed his feelings, for John stared at him, his wide, liquid eyes dancing with unshed tears. "Yet you love the General," he accused.

Hamilton huffed in frustration. "We all love him!"

"Yes, but— That is—" Laurens shook with banked rage, and Hamilton feared his friend would act as recklessly here as he had in battle. But instead of attacking with his fists, John spat out, "He should not be the one who kisses you!"

It was as if a heavy fog lifted from Hamilton's eyes, and he saw what plagued his friend now. He should have known it more quickly, having suffered from it himself for so long: a deep, abiding heartsickness. John was the closest friend he'd ever had, and what he'd thought usual for such a connection was now shown to be something else entirely.

"You never said a word of this before," Hamilton said in hushed awe. "Why did you not tell me?" 

"As I am a man, I thought you would never consider accepting my most tender affections." A single tear trickled down John's cheek, and he dashed it away with his sleeve. "Now I see you have accepted those of another, even though that is nothing but a lie. How can I hope to compare to him, Ham?" 

"My sweet John—" Hamilton began, choked with anguish, for in comparison to Washington, he loved John just as deeply, though differently. He reached for him, but Laurens did not allow it, striking his hands away. 

"Do not come to sleep beside me tonight," John said. "I do not need your pity, as pitiful as I'm sure you find me now." And he fled the room before Hamilton could protest. 

Without the comfort of his usual bedroll and bereft of the offer of the General's bed, Hamilton was forced to sleep on the flagstones of the bare pantry with only his cloak for a blanket. He shivered with the cold that crept under the kitchen door and wondered at the mess he'd made for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the 5.1 feet of shit chapter! Also called the Everybody Cries chapter! 
> 
> This part was a beast that could not have been wrangled save for the help of Poose & Ji, which I'm thinking would be a great name for a company that makes bath products. 
> 
> I am hashtag blessed with all the lovely messages y'all have been leaving me, so please feel free to continue being lovely in the comments or at [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/).


	6. Chapter 6

The icy weather gave way to a freezing rain that made everything, out of doors and in, miserable with damp. Hamilton shook out his wet cloak and hat in the foyer, having just returned from accompanying the General on his now-daily rounds. Washington had been in the saddle since long before dawn, visiting the huts of ailing soldiers and dismounting to clasp the hands of the dire cases. Hamilton had listened to him whisper words of courage to each man in turn for hours. After that ordeal, he was more than ready to return to the Baron's endless pages.

Lafayette accosted him just without the foyer and grasped him by the shoulders. "There you are, dear Alexander. Where were you last night? You never came back to our quarters, and I dreamed you were lost in a dark pit."

"I worked at my writing table long past midnight," Hamilton lied, "and fell asleep right upon the page, smearing my letters terribly. If you must worry, worry only for my eyesight, which has suffered under the light of too few candles." 

His friend seemed not to trust his explanation, and he said slowly, "When I asked John what had happened to you, he put his back to me and feigned sleep. It was truly unlike him."

"We are all of us in foul moods these days," Hamilton snapped. "That is what happens when you have no food in your stomach."

With a wounded look, Lafayette released him. "I wanted only to impress upon you that you may come to me with any of your troubles, whatever they may be. We three, you, I, and Laurens, have been the most intimate of friends, brought together for love of our cause and our General; I hope you will keep that always in your mind." 

Hamilton regarded him closely, but affection for his compatriot overcame Hamilton's natural sense of suspicion, and he clasped Lafayette's hands in his. "I shall remember it," he said, and left to pursue his work.

He found Laurens in a corner of the dining room, hunched over his pages upon a small side table, the larger piece of furniture being occupied by various maps. The other staff were poring over these, arguing with the Baron in a heated mixture of French, German, and English. Hamilton nodded to the company and went to John's side.

"May I assist?" he asked. The task of organizing von Steuben's drill instructions into something resembling a readable document had fallen to the two of them, and it appeared Laurens was now attempting to finish the whole tome by himself. 

"If you have nothing better to do," John said without looking at him, and passed him a sheaf of papers outlining the proper way to present one's arms while marching. 

Hamilton fit himself into the tight space at the little table and took up a quill and inkpot. He snuck glances at his friend's stony face, hoping for some chance to reconcile after their midnight tête-à-tête, but John gave him no opening. They worked in silence for some minutes before Hamilton tried to appeal to Laurens' normally good humor. 

"Look at what he's written this time," he said, holding up a page. "'Hold it by the cock, taking care not to release until you can be certain to complete the task.' Surely the Baron is doing this on purpose." 

John hummed, still not meeting his eyes. "Perhaps you just see innuendo everywhere, Hamilton. Excuse me." And he pushed away from their small desk, moving to quit the room, but before he could, General Washington entered, still damp from the misty rain, and blocked his path.

"Ah, Colonel Laurens. A supply wagon has finally arrived. Will you see to it, or are you about some other task at the moment?" he asked.

"None that is more important than my General's orders," John said without his usual warmth. He took a cloak from a peg and left without another word. 

Washington watched his exit with a concerned eye, and this he turned on Hamilton after a moment. "Has something happened to Laurens? He strikes me as very morose this morning." 

"Sir." With a meaningful look at the other men in the room, Hamilton tipped his head toward the corridor. 

Washington beckoned him with a gesture, and they left the dining room for the relative peace of the hall. "Tell me," the General said.

Hamilton heaved a sigh. "Laurens witnessed our arrival the other evening, when we met von Steuben here at Headquarters. He was quite distressed at what he'd overheard, and so I was forced to tell him of our secret ruse."

"My god. But then why is he so...despondent?" Washington's handsome face creased in confusion. 

"In truth, sir?" Hamilton chewed on his lip before resolving to answer. He could not keep these facts, however personal, from the General, for they touched upon him as well. "John's troubles stem from jealousy, for apparently he has loved me in silence for some time and cannot stand to see me with another, though he knows it is not a real match." His throat became choked with emotion, and the General looked at him sharply. 

"Laurens has affected you deeply," he said with strange certainty. 

Hamilton did not dare deny it. "Yes, sir." 

Washington swore. "This complicates matters. Will he reveal what he knows to the others, do you think?" 

Hamilton shook his head. "John would never expose you to scandal, sir. On my life, he will not breathe a word. Only the three of us know of this damned ploy." 

Now it was Washington's turn to hesitate. "Four," he said at last. "I have told Lafayette about the arrangement."

"Sir!" Hamilton's mouth dropped open. "But why?" 

"He is my confidant," the General said in a low whisper. "We have spent so much time in each other's company, he can divine my moods with a single look. He took note of my— That is, there was a certain discomfort in my bearing, and early this morning he pressed me for an explanation. Fortunately, his only misgiving is that I did not first go to him to fulfill the requirements of the plot." At this, he gave a dignified sort of snort, as if thinking this a very poor joke on Lafayette's part.

Every word that Lafayette had said to Hamilton just minutes before filed through his mind for examination. His friend's speech now seemed fraught with meaning that had been unseen prior. Hamilton groaned. "Sir, Lafayette cannot live without gossip. It's a wonder the entire camp has not heard of the thing by now!"

"I see your point." Washington drew himself up to his full, considerable height and clasped his hands behind his back. "Hamilton, we must end this farce. We cannot continue, not at the expense of my most loyal staff. Furthermore, the Baron is here to stay, and we cannot pretend forever." 

Hamilton was a man torn in two. Half of him knew that Washington was correct; the ruse must come to an end. But the other half wished to indulge just a moment longer in the excuse to touch Washington, to be near him as he couldn't before, to display his love even if the object of his heart thought it a lie.

"Von Steuben will not be pleased," he finally said.

"I believe the Baron will understand once I explain. He may even find it a charming tale." Washington coughed into his fist. "I will need you to translate, of course."

"Oh, of course," Hamilton said, wishing to be anywhere but there at the moment. 

The unfortunate task was delayed until that evening, when Baron von Steuben was finished screaming his way through the drills of the infantry. Hamilton and Washington found him in his private log hut, reclining on a mountain of plush pillows with the dog Azor perched on his lap while his three staff members toiled at a series of desks. 

"Ah, my dear Alexander and George." The Inspector General signaled two of his companions, fellows by the names of Benjamin Walker and William North, to attend. "Darlings, find some brandy for the General if you could. I've heard tell of a supply cart's arrival; go inquire." The two left on their search while Pierre Etienne, unbidden, came to stand at the Baron's side. They were once again alone, the four of them.

"He is offering a drink," Hamilton said. 

Washington demurred. "I'm afraid there is no time for pleasantries tonight, Baron," he said as Hamilton translated. "I have only come to confess a truth which should have been told weeks ago. It is my hope that my honesty now is enough." He sighed. "When Dr. Franklin told you I shared your nature, he aimed to sway you with lies. In actuality, I have no lover. Colonel Hamilton—who is no sodomite—has been playing the part on my own orders. I am sorry to have deceived you, and I do not wish to do so any longer." 

Though it pained him, Hamilton delivered these words in precise, perfect French, but with his head bowed so that he did not have to witness the reactions of the men before him. When he was finished and had no choice but to raise his eyes, he saw von Steuben watching him with a frown before turning to Pierre. "Do they jest?" he asked. 

"I suppose not," the secretary said. "If they do, it is not a very good one."

The Baron squinted up at them once more, then, shrugging his great shoulders expansively, he laughed. "What lengths you have gone to in an attempt to make me feel more at home! I should be grateful, perhaps, though I feel quite foolish for parading Pierre before you as I have." He stroked the little dog in his lap, which quivered under his fingers. "Will that make trouble for us, I wonder?" His voice, if not his face, betrayed his serious concern. 

"Not at all, Inspector," Washington said. "If I had been able to confer with Franklin before he doled out his falsehoods, I would have told him that it makes no difference to me where men find comfort. And Monsieur Du Ponceau is not a soldier, so there is no overstepping the bounds of rank in your case. I am content to have you...continue on as you would."

"Good," said the Baron.

"Good." Washington looked about the hut. "Well, I must return to Headquarters if there is nothing else. Farewell, Inspector General."

"Farewell, dear sir," the Baron said via Pierre, and the General quit the place, ducking to fit through the short door frame. Hamilton moved to follow, but Pierre strode forward and took him by the arm. 

He spoke in his heavily accented yet beautiful English. "Was it honestly all a ruse, Colonel?"

"Pierre, must you speak a tongue I cannot understand? What are you saying?" von Steuben protested from his pillows. 

Du Ponceau shushed him. "This is important, my love," he said in French. Then, to Hamilton in English once more, "Your General says your devotions were nothing more than an act, but I do not believe that is altogether true."

"It is as His Excellency said," Hamilton insisted, but he could not meet Pierre's gaze. "Mere lies, fanciful gestures we hoped would convince you."

"Ah, no, I have seen this look on men before." Pierre crooked two fingers beneath Hamilton's chin and lifted his face so that he could watch him closely. "You were not acting when you were with him. And what's more," he smiled, "I do not think he was lying either."

Hamilton shook free of Pierre's grasp, his face heating. "You do not know the General as I do. The thought alone appalls him." 

"Ah! Is that what he told you?"

"In so many words. Regarding a similar situation." 

"These damn Americans!" Pierre flung his hands in the air, switching back to his native tongue. "It is a wonder they get _anything_ done!" 

"Leave Alexander be, pet," the Baron said, and Pierre stalked back to him, where he scooped Azor into his arms and took his place on von Steuben's knee. The Baron shot Hamilton a fond look. "Dear boy, do try to get some rest tonight. You look tired." 

"Yes, gird yourself for a little fête that we will be hosting tomorrow evening," Pierre said primly. "Friedrich wishes to provide some much-needed diversion for the officers. You will attend, of course."

"If I can spare a moment," Hamilton said with great wariness. 

"Nonsense." The Baron waved a hand. "Everyone shall come. You will drink, dance…. It will take your mind off this whole affair." 

"Thank you, Inspector General. I would be honored." Hamilton bowed and made his escape. 

He caught up to Washington only by running, but he was glad to have made the effort. It might be his last chance to speak with him candidly, alone. "Sir!" he called as he slowed to a walk alongside him. "The Baron took the news well, did he not?"

"As well as could be expected."

Hamilton looked askance at the General, hoping to divine some scrap of his inner thoughts from his face, but of course this was impossible. Du Ponceau was mad, Hamilton decided. There was no hint that Washington felt anything more than simple camaraderie for him. 

"It must be a great relief to you," Washington said suddenly, "to have the ordeal over and done with."

Hamilton answered carefully, as he did not wish to dissuade Washington should there be even the faintest glimmer of hope that Pierre was in the right. "I do not enjoy deception generally, having always the impulse to speak my mind with true forthrightness, sir." 

"Would that we all could," Washington said in that mysterious way of his, and then he stopped in the middle of the path. Hamilton paused as well.

"Sir?" he asked.

"My thoughts need to be gathered. I will walk about the camp for an hour or so." He looked out over the rows of tents and log huts with a pinched expression. "Tell the others I shall return shortly."

"Yes, sir. Shall I send someone to accompany you, sir? Or shall I?" 

"No, Hamilton, that is not necessary. I believe I can manage on my own for a matter of some minutes."

"Your Excellency, I did not mean to imply—" Hamilton reached up without thought in an attempt to lay a calming hand upon Washington's shoulder. Having touched him more in the last few days than he had in the years of knowing him combined, he had come to expect his touch would be welcome, and so it was a shock to find it was not. His General shook off Hamilton's hand and steadfastly avoided his gaze. 

"You never do," he murmured, and turned to walk away into the maze of the camp. "Talk to Laurens!" he shouted as he left, not bothering to even speak over his shoulder. "I want that rift mended by the time I return."

Hamilton watched his tall figure until it disappeared from sight behind a stand of tents, his heart sinking further with each step Washington took away from him. 

Following Washington's explicit orders, Hamilton cornered Laurens in the farmhouse kitchen and said, "His Excellency wishes our friendship repaired, and so I have come to you to beg your forgiveness." He was unsure why he was apologizing, and only knew that he should if he wanted John to remain in his life.

But John was busy counting out blocks of hard cheese on the long farmhouse table and barely gave him a glance. "If you are my friend," he said, "you'll see these six delivered to the huts down by the river, and these four taken to the guards at the outskirts. As glad as I am that supplies have finally arrived, I do not know how I will distribute them all before nightfall."

"I will help you," Hamilton said, and began scooping up the rations into a few cloth sacks that lay nearby. "Before I leave to deliver these I must impress upon you, my dear Laurens, just how sorry I am regarding—" 

"Hammie, mark me." John set down a long list of supply details with a sigh and finally looked up at him. "There is no time for me to wallow in whatever grief I brought upon myself at our last true conversation. We have too much to do, and I cannot allow my more fiery emotions to hinder us. In this one instance, I shall take a lesson from men like Burr, who put all that aside for the sake of their larger task." He made to turn back to his work, but Hamilton stopped him with a gentle hand at his elbow.

"General Washington revealed the truth to the Baron moments ago," he said in a low whisper, though they were alone in the room. "I am released from the pact I made in support of Franklin's ruse." 

John's eyes roamed over his face as if searching for any hint of falsehood there. "And yet you do not seem to me a happily freed man," he murmured. "Will you miss His Excellency now that this is finished?"

Hamilton guided John to face him, and his hand crept up to curl under the knot of his queued hair. "You know I will. But I have also this past day missed my dearest friend, whom I love."

"Not as I love mine," John breathed. Hamilton could feel a fine tremble travel under his hand, down John's neck.

"You're wrong, John. We are of a mind. Is it that strange to contain more than one object in my heart? It is wide enough, I think."

John's lips parted in disbelief. "You say this only to mollify me." 

"What can I do to convince you?" Hamilton whispered, and tugged him closer so that their foreheads pressed together. His eyes closed of their own volition, and he listened to his friend's labored breathing so close to his own lips. 

"I do not know." John pulled away, blinking, and stared down at his damned cheese. "I have not a moment to spare for thinking on this. I—" 

"Ah, good, something to eat other than that awful firecake!" Lafayette's voice boomed as he strode into the kitchen. "I will have just a small nibble, yes?" His fingers danced over the spread of food as if trying to find the perfect piece.

"Not of this, you won't," John said with firm resolve, slapping his hand away. He stood straighter and took a step away from Hamilton, who cursed inwardly. "But now that you're here, Lafayette, you can assist Ham in delivering these few." 

Lafayette made a show of pain at this, his hand splayed over his heart. "You would starve your dear friend?" he asked.

"I would ask my dear friend to wait for supper!" Laurens laughed and waved them away. "Go! And if you see any of the others roaming about, send them to me, for I need all the messengers I can find today." 

"For you, my dear, only for you," Lafayette said. He picked up one sack and handed Hamilton the other. "Also! I have just passed by one of von Steuben's men, the one called North. He tells me there is to be a gathering tomorrow night. The Baron wishes to invite us all." 

"One cartload of supplies and we're already throwing a party," John grumbled. 

Lafayette slapped him on the back and shouldered his burden. "It is only correct to do so! Adieu, John. Hamilton?"

"I'll join you in a moment," Hamilton said. "Go ahead without me." Lafayette did so with a shrug, and as he left, Hamilton turned to Laurens. "Shall I bed down elsewhere tonight, then? Or will you allow me to return to our quarters?"

"Oh, Alex." John heaved a sigh. "Where did you sleep last—? No, don't tell me. It isn't important," he said quickly, and Hamilton rushed to correct him.

"With no one else, only here on the flagstones." He stamped his riding boot on the floor. In regards to Washington's innocent offer to provide him with a bed, he thought it best left unmentioned.

Laurens looked upon him with great pity. "The room is yours as well as mine," he said. "Of course you may sleep there; only, I may need time to—" 

"I understand. We will sleep apart. Lafayette will relish the chance to be between us, for once." Hamilton tried to laugh, but it was weak and trailing. He sobered. "You shall have all the time you require." 

Hamilton hurried out of the farmhouse to join Lafayette on the path leading to the guards' posts. His friend gave him a knowing look at they walked. "You had some business with Laurens?"

"Leave it be, Lafayette," he said with some heat, remembering how Washington had confided their secret to him. A single man should not be allowed to know everything.

Lafayette raised his brows but said nothing. They walked past the drilling grounds, where von Steuben stood tall and imposing before four dozen men, all moving in unison to thrust their bayonets into a series of scarecrows wearing scarlet coats. 

"Fuck them! Fuck these British shitpots!" the Baron screamed in French, and at his side, just as loudly, Pierre shouted the same in English. "They are the reason you are stuck in this hellhole with only your hand for company! _Fuck_ them!"

One soldier managed to mangle his target's head, slicing it off its ragged shoulders, and von Steuben crowed, "That is the way! Shit in his skull if you like!" He pounded the boy on the back, and the soldier, though bewildered, looked up at his instructor with glowing pride. 

Hamilton watched all this with great interest. "The men seem to be taking to the Baron's lessons quite readily. We may actually be a proper fighting force in time."

"His curses are most pleasing," Lafayette remarked. "Would that I had such skill!"

A laugh forced its way from Hamilton's throat, and he was suddenly ashamed for his behavior toward his friend, who only wished him comfort and happiness. "Lafayette, I am sorry. You were correct; my business with John concerned the matter you have already been made privy to by the General. I'm certain you can imagine the awkward repercussions of the thing." 

"Yes," Lafayette said with a dreamy air, "it is a good thing the Baron is hosting this fête soon." 

Hamilton cocked his head. "What does that have to do with—?"

"Ah, we must part; I travel this way." Lafayette adjusted the sack of cheese on his shoulder and pointed toward the river. "Farewell, Alexander! Do not fall asleep at your _desk_ tonight!"

"I will not," Hamilton called after him, though he puzzled at his friend's meaning. This party of the Baron's was becoming more fraught with questions.

That evening, Hamilton avoided looking at Laurens as they readied for bed. When Lafayette moved to take his usual spot nearest the door, Hamilton swallowed and said, "Would you not like to sleep in my place? I would rather yours. The General is expecting a letter late tonight, and I may be needed to draft a response. This way, I won't tread on you in a half-sleep if I am called." 

John looked between the two of them, and Lafayette looked between John and Hamilton. Hamilton, for his part, looked out the window and studied the dots of campfires upon the hill. 

"I will trade with you if you wish," Lafayette finally said. The matter settled, they arranged their bedrolls and said their good nights. 

Hamilton woke but once in the dark, and when he did he perceived that they'd all three rolled toward each other in their sleep. Lafayette slept with an arm around each of them, snoring into Hamilton's hair. Atop Lafayette's warm chest, Hamilton saw that his fingers had entangled with John's so that even without wakefulness and with the body between them, they had sought out one another.

Hamilton fell back into his dreams before he could decide whether to remove himself from their huddled knot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well what can I say. Things are falling apart & falling into place. In the next installment: we shall party all night 'till the break of dawn!
> 
> My first readers made me cry happy tears with their comments:  
> Ji: sir. sir. one last time?  
> Poose: is lafayette ratatouille?
> 
> Comments are yay! Here is my [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/).


	7. Chapter 7

The following day was another long one for Hamilton, who spent the bulk of it working alongside John in a struggle to finish von Steuben's manual. The air between them was calmer now, though they had very few chances to speak outside of quick consultations on the Baron's intended meaning. Lafayette paused by their desk a handful of times during the course of their work, providing cups of hot water and slices of cold tongue to sustain them. Of General Washington, Hamilton saw little, just a flash of His Excellency's uniform as he strode in and out of Headquarters on his various pieces of business. Hamilton wondered why the General had not seen fit to summon him at all that day, as would be usual, and the thought that perhaps he would no longer be welcome in His Excellency's circle wounded him deeply.

Finally, after hours of toil, the staff around them began buzzing with excitement for the impending party. Rumors about the Baron's personal supply of drink and food had grown to outsize even the French court, but Hamilton could admit to a certain amount of giddiness on his own part at seeing the huge tent that was being erected some distance from the farmhouse, clearly visible from the kitchen window. 

After their work was completed, Laurens and Hamilton returned to their quarters, where they prepared along with Lafayette for the evening's festivities. They all three exchanged their shirts for fresh ones and fussed over their uniform buttons and neckwear. Hamilton stood before their small square of mirrored glass at the wash basin and combed out his hair with considerable attention. 

"You should wear it loose like a wanton tonight," Lafayette suggested with a laugh. 

"Very amusing." Hamilton struggled with his velvet ribbon, his hands suddenly bereft of their natural nimbleness. "John, could you—?" he began before recalling that perhaps Laurens would not wish to do him this favor, considering all that had passed between them. 

Yet John stepped into view behind him in the mirror and took the length of ribbon from his hands. "You've made a mess of it. Allow me," he said, and tied Hamilton's hair into a handsome knot at the back of his head. Their eyes met in the mirror, and John looked away first. "Much improved," he declared.

They walked together to the party tent and called for entry at the shut flap. Pierre Etienne's head popped from folds of canvas to look them over quickly.

"Breeches off," Pierre said as he threw open the tent flap for them. "It is that sort of party."

Hamilton stared at the secretary, who indeed was wearing nothing from the waist down save his buckled shoes. The tails of his shirt and coat gave him very little modesty, for in the front these fell only to mid-thigh and there was, of course, nothing underneath. Hamilton forced his gaze back up to Pierre's smiling face.

"This is absurd," he said. 

"Ah, _non_ , it is very Parisian! Come, my dear friends, you must bend to my first country's customs once in awhile," Lafayette said, already struggling with the flaps of his breeches. 

Laurens looked unconvinced. "And if I refuse?" he asked.

Pierre shook his head. "No admittance to those who are decently dressed, I'm afraid. The Baron insists."

"Well, if it is a requirement of the Baron's, I suppose we have no choice." Hamilton shot a helpless look at John before unbuttoning his flies. 

Soon all three stood shivering outside the tent, half-undressed. Pierre took their breeches and stockings and draped them over his arm with an approving nod. He gallantly allowed them their shoes. "Now you may enter, gentlemen," he said, and held the tent flap high for them. 

Inside, the huge tent was warm with the heat of many bodies as well as the clever camp stove that sat in the center of the fête, its smokestack jutting out of a hole cut in the canvas above for that purpose. The party was already well under way, with over three dozen officers of various ages and ranks milling about with mismatched cups in hand, all of them naked from waist to shoes. The scandal did not quite exist due to the bare skin itself, for they were military men and inured to seeing each other in a state of undress in their close quarters. It was only that here, in what was supposed to be a refined and genteel setting, formality and its sister propriety were being tossed out the window. Furthermore, until now Hamilton had never been afforded the luxury of time when it came to scrutinizing his compatriots in the altogether. 

"Ah, I knew Meade stuffed his stockings. Look, his legs are not nearly as finely formed as we've been led to believe," Lafayette whispered to them. 

Meade seemed unconcerned about the truth of his legs becoming known, and waved a greeting to them as he walked past. It was soon apparent why he and so many of the others were in such high spirits; the Baron, also pantsless, approached them with four small sherry glasses filled to the brim with some type of strong-smelling liquid. 

"You three!" von Steuben cried in French. "Allow me to welcome you properly. These drinks are my own invention, and a delightful sort of pageantry. Like so!" He set the glasses down on one of the many wooden crates that sat scattered about the tent as tables. Taking a candle stub, he set about lighting the surface of the liquids and producing a high, blue flame on each. 

Hamilton watched in horror as von Steuben took up the first glass and pressed it into his hands. "How does one—?" The glass was growing hotter by the moment in his fingers.

"We shall do it together. Blow out the flame, then drink every drop in one swallow. That is very important; do not sip! Ready?" He passed more flaming glasses to Laurens and Lafayette, who took them with great caution. At the Baron's call of "Prost! Zum wohl!" they all did as instructed and took their drinks like medicine.

The taste was very cloying, the sting of rum mixed with something sickly sweet. Hamilton shut his eyes for a long moment, hoping to overcome the burn in his throat and stomach. When he opened them, the room inside the tent seemed to blur about the edges. 

The Baron smacked his lips and set his glass down with a hard clack. "Well! What do you think?" he asked, switching back to French. "Just the thing to keep us warm on a winter's evening, no? The fire heats it, you see."

"Very interesting, sir," John coughed. 

"We should have another," Lafayette said, and the Baron clapped his hands.

"A true citizen of the Continent, like myself! We shall show the Americans what it is to drink. Come, I shall provide." Von Steuben staggered away, pausing only to reach a hand under the tails of Pierre's coat, eliciting a yelp that interrupted that man's conversation with Walker. 

Hamilton turned to Lafayette and handed him his empty glass. "I am not certain that I can survive another of the Baron's mixtures," he said. 

"Nonsense! It's a party." Lafayette collected their cups and left to find an uncluttered space for them, leaving John and Hamilton together for a time. 

Hamilton licked his lips, feeling every inch the shy young boy he had never had a chance to be. In the flickering candlelight of the tent, John looked very enticing. The delicate shape of his ankles drew Hamilton's gaze terribly downwards, and he fought to remind himself to look his friend in the eye.

"I suppose Lafayette's correct," John said, tugging at his shirt tails in an effort to cover his knees. "This is a rare opportunity to be merry. We should not waste it." 

Hamilton offered him a tender smile and his arm. "I will brave more liquor, but only if my dear Laurens accompanies me." 

It was only with some hesitation that John linked their arms together and said, "Another round, then." And together, they found Lafayette and made their way through the crowd to the Baron's stores of refreshment, where he coaxed them into drinking that flaming drink again as well as several others. 

They drank steadily until they reached the point of comfortably leaning on each other for support and telling bawdy jokes. John seemed to relax further the more they imbibed, and his eyes strayed down to Hamilton's naked legs several times in the course of their revelry. Once, when Lafayette had left their little enclave to share some amusing story with Pierre, Laurens leaned over and whispered in Hamilton's ear, "You have the most shapely calves of any man here tonight, Ham."

"Discounting yourself, of course," Hamilton murmured in return, and they laughed together as color came high into their cheeks. 

John quieted after a time and bade Hamilton to sit with him on one of the wooden crates. There, they could whisper in relative privacy as the party swirled around them in a noisy rush. 

"I wanted to tell you that I no longer hold any ill will against you for what happened with General Washington," Laurens said. "The worst of my jealousy passed once I reflected upon it. You acted as you thought best, and in truth—" He licked his lips, and Hamilton watched him do it. "I would have done the same had I been in your place."

"You mean…?" Hamilton could not prevent the grin from coming to his face. "His Excellency has captivated you in the same manner?"

"As you said, we all love him." Laurens took a long swallow from his glass of ale, then added, "And I would not say no to a figure as fine as his." 

"Certainly," Hamilton said, feeling a glow of warmth at being able to speak so freely with one who shared his affections for Washington. "But of course, he is—" 

"Beyond our reach," John finished for him. 

Hamilton nodded. "Yes. In every conceivable sense." 

"It is very pleasing, then, that I should offer you a substitute, however poor?" Though his tone was light, Laurens bit his lip in a way that caused Hamilton's heart no small amount of pain.

"Why should you have such a low opinion of your own charms, my sweet John?" Hamilton asked. There was some risk involved in making an overt gesture here before so many of their fellow officers, but Hamilton sought the small comfort of covering Laurens' hand with his own in the dark, secret space between them. "You are not the General, true, but no one is the General save the General himself. My boundless love for you has been fostered by nothing outside of your own goodness, and if I compare it to my love for His Excellency, I find them the exact same size, if not the same shape."

"My god, Alexander." John's gaze fell to Hamilton's lips and lingered there. "Your words will be the death of me. Nothing else has the ability to pierce my chest the way they do." 

"I pray that remains true always," Hamilton said, and the tenderness in John's expression combined with the weightless feeling of drink nearly drove him to kiss John right there without a thought to the consequences. But before he could make such an egregious error, the tent flap rose and a figure appeared there that silenced the entire crowd. 

Washington stood silhouetted against the beautiful black sky, his uniform as crisp and intact as it always was. He observed the host of frozen men from his spot at the entrance, taking in their state of undress with cool calm. His gaze fell on Hamilton and Laurens last and, after a moment of further silence, he looked away and spoke to the hushed assembly. 

"I see that my staff is thoroughly enjoying themselves, as well you should. As I was unaware of the ribald nature of this affair, it did not occur to me that I might spoil your fine time with my presence. If you would all excuse me, you may continue as you were." He turned to leave, but was interrupted by Lafayette, who launched himself forward and wrapped his arms about the General's huge frame with all the exuberance of the very drunk. 

"Sir, you received my note! It brings me unfettered joy that you decided to accept the invitation." He kissed the General four times, twice on each cheek, as if it had been years and not hours since last they'd met. "Come, Your Excellency, you cannot leave now." Lafayette turned to the other men and gestured for support, and as he commanded them, they gave it. 

"Yes, stay and have a glass with us, sir!"

"Sir, you must not go so soon!"

"A toast to His Excellency!"

"Please, sir, you spoil nothing!" the Baron added, rushing forward with Pierre by his side, as always, to translate. "The men truly wish for you to remain here, at least for a drink or two!"

Washington quieted all their shouts with a simple wave of his hand, saying, "How can I refuse the best soldiers on this shore?" With that, cheers went up in a loud tumult, and the Baron nodded happily. 

"Yes, yes, so off with your breeches, dear sir," he said. "Trust me, it does wonders for encouraging a sense of camaraderie among the men." 

Washington looked askance at Pierre's translation. "Surely I cannot—"

"The rules are what they are, sir," Pierre reported. "Even the good General must abide by them." 

Another silence descended over the party, as there was now some question as to whether Washington would storm from the tent rather than suffer such indignities. Instead, the General shook his head with good-natured humility. 

"So be it," he said, and unbuttoned his flies and shucked his breeches to his ankles amid shouts of triumph that shook the tent at the sight. Laughing, Lafayette and Pierre helped His Excellency out of the few pieces of clothing and took them away while the General recovered his footwear. 

Hamilton, witnessing all of this, was spellbound. Here was the General, walking bare-legged through the sea of officers, shaking hands, accepting drinks, and submitting to toasts. It would have been unimaginable mere moments ago.

Laurens leaned close and whispered, "It appears we are no longer in possession of the best calves at this fête." 

"Truer words were never spoken," said Hamilton. 

"Your Excellency!" Lafayette nearly dragged the General to where Hamilton and Laurens were seated, and they stood to welcome him. "You must try this concoction of the Baron's. It is a delightful thing, very potent," Lafayette said. "Inspector General! Another round for us!" 

The Baron set to pouring out more measures atop his crowded crate, and Washington regarded the three of them closely. "How many of these potions have you already imbibed?" he asked.

"Oh, several. You must hurry to catch us," Lafayette said, and passed the full glasses 'round. 

Hamilton attempted with all his might not to stare at the point where the General's thighs disappeared beneath his immaculate shirt tails, but he was not so strong as that. He felt eyes on him and looked up to find Washington watching him. 

"I am glad you decided to attend this affair, sir," Hamilton said quickly to draw attention away from his faux pas. "The men certainly are grateful for it." 

"Yes," Washington said slowly, "I'm sure they are."

"To freedom!" Laurens interjected, and they all four raised their glasses, blew out their flames, and drank. 

"Dear god," Washington said after the effects of the liquor had passed through his nerves. "That was…quite bracing."

"It is good to hear you say so, sir, for I've gotten you three more." Lafayette set to lighting those glasses on the crate behind them, and Washington could only shake his head. 

"Do I lag that far behind the rest of you? Very well." And he swallowed them down, one after another, while Hamilton watched in shock. 

"Is this a dream?" he murmured to Laurens. "Or is the General about to get very drunk along with us?"

"Perhaps he is one of those men who are not so affected by alcohol," John said. Hamilton thought about the amount of wine they'd drunk the night of von Steuben's arrival and the subsequent relaxing of Washington's boundaries. He hadn't the heart to tell John how wrong he was. 

Lafayette seized the General by the elbow and steered him toward a quiet corner of the tent, saying, "Sir, I have much to tell you since last we spoke. John, Alexander, excuse us!"

Laurens stood on the tips of his toes to watch the pair thread their way through the partygoers. "What do you suppose that's about, Ham?"

Hamilton could barely see them by the canvas wall speaking in hushed tones. "I do not know but— What in Hell?" Hamilton saw the tent flap rise out of the corner of his eye and turned to find a handful of men pushing an upright pyramid piano inside. They were followed by a dozen more musicians carrying violins, flutes, horns, a cello, and even one ophicleide. 

The Baron met the flurry of activity and began instructing these newcomers in setting up their band. "Now we will have music!" he announced to the room at large. "It is not a party without music. Please dance if you can! And if you cannot, eh, dance anyway." 

After hearing Pierre's translation, Meade shouted over the heads of the crowd, "Shall I go find a few camp women who might act as our partners, Inspector General?"

Upon hearing the translation of this, the Baron roared with laughter. "No woman will deign to enter this tent, not when we are in this state," he said, indicating his lack of breeches. 

Meade looked down at his own bare legs as if he'd forgotten his nakedness. "Oh yes," he mumbled.

"You will have to make do with each other," von Steuben added with a wicked grin, then returned to assisting the band. 

"How in god's name did the Baron manage all this?" Hamilton wondered aloud. "I would have thought the nearest piano to be fifty miles away."

"He is a marvel for certain," John said.

Hamilton was so engrossed in watching the musicians materialize, he didn't notice Washington's return until the man said his name right in his ear, causing him to jump. 

"Apologies, Colonel." The General was holding yet another glass—where he'd gotten it was anyone's guess—and this he drained before speaking further. "I only sought to inquire whether you'd like to dance."

"Dance?" Hamilton asked.

"Yes, dance. Do you know the allemande?" Washington set down his empty cup and waited expectantly for Hamilton's response. 

Hamilton grasped for words to form an answer. "Not...entirely, Your Excellency." His knowledge of dance extended only to some country dances and a few informal reels. The more sophisticated steps were beyond him.

"No matter. It is easily learnt; I do not believe you will have much trouble." Washington gave the musicians some sort of signal, and the band struck up a jaunty tune. "Come, the others will expect me to begin. We should not keep them waiting." He held out his hand. Hamilton looked at it, then cast a bewildered glance at John, who merely matched his expression of confusion. Having no other recourse, Hamilton placed his hand in Washington's. 

"My dear John," Hamilton heard Lafayette say as he was led away, "you shall be my partner for the first dance, no? My skills in this have much improved since my embarrassment at court." 

Hamilton looked over his shoulder to see Laurens taking Lafayette's hand in his with a faint blush painting his cheek. He turned his attention back to the General, who was leading them smoothly through the parting crowd, their clasped hands held at the height of his great shoulders. Hamilton cast about for something to say in this strange situation.

"You enjoy dancing very much, do you not, sir? I have heard you are an accomplished partner."

"It is a skill I have developed for practical purposes," Washington answered. "If I am to attend a ball for hours, I would rather dance than be trapped in some corner by a dull conversationalist." 

"I see." Hamilton wondered at his meaning, thinking perhaps the offer to dance was merely a measure to avoid any bores in attendance.

They reached the dance floor at the opposite side of the tent, where a series of wooden planks had been placed on the canvas-covered ground. Hamilton recognized it as the stage that Laurens had used for _Cato_ , only without its supporting feet. 

"I must confess to Your Excellency before we begin—" Hamilton said in a rush.

"Yes, Alexander?" Washington stepped onto the boards with him and turned to grant him his full, radiant attention.

Hamilton swallowed. "I am not much of a dancer, sir."

A fond look passed over the General's face, and he clasped Hamilton's hands in each of his. "You need only follow my movements. That is, if you trust me?" He brought their joined hands high above their heads. 

"Of course I will, sir," Hamilton breathed, and as swift as a gunshot, they were dancing. 

The allemande had not the wide gulf between partners that distinguished dances like the minuet or the more familiar country steps. Instead, their hands remained always together and they twirled about each other in dizzying patterns. When Washington first spun him under the arch of his great arm, Hamilton thought he might stumble and fall, and so kept a careful eye on his shoes.

"Do not watch your feet; I will not feel it if you tread on my toes once or twice," Washington said. 

"I fear it may happen more than once or twice, Your Excellency," Hamilton groused, but lifted his eyes to meet his General's steady gaze. 

"That is good, you're doing very well." Washington spun him again so that Hamilton's back was pressed into his chest, and Hamilton perceived John across the dance floor, held in a similar manner in Lafayette's arms. 

_What is happening?_ Laurens mouthed silently to him. 

_I do not know!_ he returned. 

Then they were twirling again and Hamilton lost sight of John for the moment. More of the men took to the dance floor and surrounded them in their own pairs, causing Washington to press closer. 

"Hamilton, I have something of a confession to make," His Excellency murmured. He passed Hamilton through another series of spins, this time catching him playfully about the waist to turn him counterclockwise. 

Hamilton fought the wave of dizziness that washed over him. "Sir?"

"It is only knowing how much you value forthrightness, as well as some words from Lafayette, that causes me to say this." Washington drew him closer and, under the guise of showing Hamilton some clever steps, whispered in his ear, "It was not an act with me, what we did for the Baron. It is my great shame that I used the situation to my advantage and took every opportunity to be nearer to you, for that is where I wish to be always." 

The world around Hamilton faded into dim shadow. He thought he really would fall then, as weak as his legs had become. His mouth opened and closed, wordless, as Washington led him into another twirl. He completed the maneuver face to face with his commander, whose eyes held such tender affliction. 

"Please speak," Washington said softly, "even if it is only to voice your disgust, so that I might know if I have lost my Hamilton forever." 

Hamilton's hands tightened 'round the General's. "You have not," he managed to say. "But sir, I cannot understand— Do you not disapprove of relations between lowly colonels and high-ranking generals?"

"I do, and so have prostrated myself before you in this way." Washington brought him very close now, so close that Hamilton could feel the evidence of his ardor pressing insistently against his hip with only the thin layers of their shirt tails between them. "You have full power over me in this matter, Hamilton," the General said. "You could ruin me right now if you wished by merely stepping away and letting every man here see how I yearn for you. I will give you Franklin's letter if you request it, for I did not burn it, and you may send it to the newspapers if that is what you wish to do. It is my deepest desire that the answer you give me is fully yours and not the result of any sense of duty to myself or this Army." 

"Sir, I—" Hamilton curled his fingers ever tighter in Washington's grasp. His heart was full to bursting! But what of John? He looked about for his friends and was startled to find them right beside the General. 

"May I cut into this dance?" Lafayette asked Hamilton, and without waiting for a response, swept Washington into his arms with such smoothness that there was not a moment where Washington's arousal might have been visible to anyone else in the room. As they twirled away, the General's gaze lingered on him, and Hamilton found himself occupied with Laurens as his new partner.

He spoke to his companion in a fierce whisper. "John, just now, His Excellency—!"

"I know, Lafayette informed me. What the devil, Ham? Does he really love you?" John spun him twice, already proving to be a dancer of equal skill to Washington himself.

"So he claims, though I cannot help but think it is some elaborate jest on Lafayette's part." Hamilton recalled the stiffness Washington had so wantonly pressed to him. "Or perhaps not," he amended. His own body threatened to respond in kind at the memory. "John, what shall I do?"

Laurens gazed at him with an intense sadness that colored his entire bearing. "I will understand," he said, "if you wish to disclaim all you have told me this evening."

"I do not!" Hamilton cried. "My god, if only I could divide myself into separate pieces so that I might be everywhere I dream to be all at once." 

John considered this and, spinning them 'round once more, concluded, "There is only one thing for it."

"And that is?"

"More drink."

The band finished their song, and while the dancers stopped to applaud and rearrange their couples, Hamilton and Laurens took the opportunity to quit the floor and seek more refreshment. The French court, Hamilton thought, was probably not too far removed from the amount and breadth of Baron von Steuben's stores, for the drink seemed to never end. He and John linked arms to share another pair of the Inspector General's signature blend, and continued thereafter with more rum. 

The mood in the tent reached a fever pitch in terms of drunkenness. Many of the dancers still twirling on the floor allowed their coat and shirt tails to flare around them as they moved, uncaring of the private portions of their anatomy this revealed. Men laughed together, spilled their drinks together, slapped each other's backs and hooked their arms 'round each other's necks. A game of chance broke out in a spot near the stove, and the players seemed to be betting their cravat pins and gold rings. Meade appeared to attempt a sort of acrobatic flip with the help of Lieutenant Colonel Tilghman. The laughing Baron watched this all from behind his little crate, where he provided ever more libations to fuel the revelry. 

Lafayette and Washington rejoined them in a relatively quiet corner after some minutes, the both of them looking flushed.

"I have not danced like that in an age," Lafayette said, taking Hamilton's glass of ale and drinking it down in one swig. "Ah! My throat was parched, dear Hammie, my apologies. I shall get us more." 

As he left, Laurens bravely spoke to His Excellency, saying, "You move very finely on the dance floor, sir. It is a pleasure to watch."

"Thank you, Colonel. Perhaps you would do me the honor of accompanying me for this next song?" Washington asked, offering a hand.

John, startled, looked to Hamilton. "Sir, wouldn't you rather dance again with Alexander? That is, Colonel Hamilton?"

"There is time enough for that later, if he is willing. Shall we?" Washington's hand remained still in the air between them, and John took it slowly. The General smiled, a small and secret thing that transformed his face from marble to a living Adonis. "Wonderful," he said as he led him away. 

Lafayette returned with four drinks but only one friend remained. "Where are Laurens and His Excellency?" he asked. 

Instead of answering, Hamilton reached for one of the cups and downed it in a monstrous gulp. "Lafayette," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "what exactly did you say to the General to make him act this way?"

His friend shrugged. "Only the most apparent of truths." He held up another glass. "A toast?" 

Hamilton took the drink and lifted it. "To our European friends, without whom we would be lost," he said in French, and Lafayette laughed at his pretty words. 

They drank, then drank some more. Washington and Laurens eventually returned from the dance floor and shared more cups with them. Hamilton attempted to catch John's eye, and when he did, John only gave him the most bewildered look before swallowing more ale. 

As the party wore on, more and more men took their leave either under their own power or leaning on the shoulders of their friends. A few that had stretched out on the ground were ordered removed by the Baron, who did not want them blocking the tent flap. The musicians packed up their instruments and left just as mysteriously as they'd arrived. Before Hamilton knew what had occurred, it was the small hours of the morning, and only a handful of men remained. He, Laurens, Lafayette, and the General were among them, with the Baron and his three staff completing their little party. The pup Azor was also produced, having presumably been stashed away for fear of the crowds trodding upon him. With just the six of them present, though, the dog was free to trot at his master's heel. He offered an admonishing series of yips in response to the ill-done song that Walker and North attempted without musical accompaniment, and this canine criticism was enough to silence them. 

"What a night!" the Baron declared with a pat to Azor's head. "Pierre, fetch some of my pillows and blankets. We should all relax and partake in one last drink." And so the Baron's secretary arranged a mound of soft silks and downy pillows in a little nest on the tent floor where they could recline at their leisure. 

Von Steuben dragged two crates over to the perimeter of this spot, saying, "My dear General, if you would, I'm afraid I have only this simple seat for you." He placed one of the tasseled pillows on the thing and patted it with a smile. "I do hope you find it comfortable."

Hamilton began his translation, but Washington did not have much need of it, for his understanding seemed complete. "Thank you, Baron. Please, avail yourself as well," Washington said, taking his place on the crate. His shirt tails rode dangerously high on his thighs as he did so, and it was only by a quick twitch of his hand at the hem of these that His Excellency preserved his modesty. 

"Ham? Will you not sit?" Lafayette's voice snapped him from his straying thoughts, and Hamilton perceived that his friends and the Baron's boys had already placed themselves in the nest of pillows on the floor at their respective commanders' feet. Pierre pressed his cheek to von Steuben's knee, and the Baron stroked his hair in return. 

"Ah," Hamilton said. Something wriggled at the back of his mind, some signal whose meaning he could not parse at the moment. "Yes, of course," he said, and took a place on the floor next to John. 

Walker passed about more cups of ale and they all sat for some minutes, content to sip their drinks and enjoy the quiet after such a long, exuberant affair. Pierre Etienne seemed quite tired, his eyes slipping closed more often than they were open. Finally, he tipped his head back to address the Baron. "My love," he said in French, "do you think General Washington would enjoy our little party piece?"

Von Steuben hummed. "If he does not, we could say you have merely drank too much, pet. Please, endeavor to entertain our guests." 

"What do they say?" Washington murmured to Hamilton. 

"I am not sure, Your Excel— Oh." Hamilton was silenced by what he saw.

Pierre had turned to his compatriot, William North, a well-built man who was as attractive as the rest of the Baron's staff, and proceeded to lavish attention on his neck with his lips and teeth. North groaned, falling into Pierre's arms and pleading for more of his tender ministrations in a mixture of English and French. The two entwined at von Steuben's feet, Pierre laid out on the fine silks with North above him, panting. The American side of the contingent watched this with wide, shocked eyes, save for Lafayette, who sipped at his ale with a sort of studied insouciance. 

The Baron looked directly across to Washington and said, "I am sorry, my dear General, but it seems I cannot help myself from displaying my beloved boys, who are more beautiful than any others and should, I think, be enjoyed as such."

"Hamilton, a translation please," Washington ordered, but it was Lafayette who answered, "He says his men are the most beautiful, sir! It is a challenge if ever I heard one."

"What?" Hamilton cried. "Sir, it wasn't exactly—"

"Very well," Washington interrupted. "Laurens. Hamilton." His great hands came down to rest on the backs of their necks in turn, and Hamilton froze. It was the tableau, he realized, very near the same one he'd seen Pierre construct in the library. He and John were seated at Washington's feet, and now his hands were in their hair, cupping their queues in his palms, directing them with his natural assurity. He looked to John and saw from his joyous, surprised expression that he knew it as well.

The General leaned down and whispered for their ears only. "Would you two care to prove the Baron wrong?" 

Those strong hands were urging them, gently yet inevitably, toward one another. Hamilton's lips were a scant inch from John's, so close they could swallow each other's breaths. 

"Yes, sir," they said in unison and, needing no further orders, came together with all the pent up need that had harried them that night. Hamilton could hear French exhortations being shouted in his direction, but he ignored them in favor of memorizing the feel of John's wet mouth and the heaviness of Washington's hand in his hair, guiding him onward. 

When they at last broke apart for air, Hamilton left one final nip on John's slack lips and said, "Was that to your satisfaction, Your Excellency?" 

"If I am to judge, there is no pair more beautiful here with us." Washington looked down upon them with a gentle smile. 

" _Excusez-moi_?" an affronted voice called from the side, and they all turned to find Lafayette huddled alone on the edge of their nest of pillows, his hands wrapped 'round his glass of ale. "I do not think the contest is restricted to pairs, sir." 

"Of course, how foolish of me. Come here, Lafayette," said the General, and motioned Hamilton closer to Laurens to make room for another at his feet. 

It dawned on Hamilton what was about to happen, and he found he had no real objection to the thing. After all, he thought as the drink sang in his veins, this was his family. They should share everything they loved, and these were the men he loved best of all.

Lafayette fitted himself into their little group and grinned like he'd won the war already. "Hello my darlings," he said, and kissed John and Hamilton first on the cheek, then on their lips, and then, with a low moan, nuzzled at Hamilton's throat. 

"My dear loves," John sighed, pressing kisses along Hamilton's jaw. "I am transported. This is Heaven, and my soul has left the Earth."

"Yes, we have found perfection," Lafayette said into the shell of Hamilton's ear. 

Hamilton disentangled himself then with apologetic touches. "Not yet, not quite," he said, and lifted his face to Washington, who sat watching them as if the crate was a throne and he, their ruler. "Sir?" Hamilton said. "Please— Not without you." He regarded his two friends, his soon-to-be lovers, and their hungry faces spoke of their total agreement on the matter.

The light in Washington's eyes dimmed, and he shook his head. "No, Hamilton, that is impossible."

With sudden resolve, Hamilton pulled himself up and clambered into the General's lap, seating himself so that his legs made brackets on either side of Washington's narrow hips. His arms wound 'round that strong neck, and he breathed, "We will accomplish many impossible things together, sir." 

Washington held himself completely still, his hands frozen on Hamilton's back only to hold him steady. "Hamilton," he said, and Hamilton did not allow him to speak further. He kissed him soundly, pleadingly, as if he could pour all his jumbled and tender feelings into his General's strong body for safekeeping. For a moment, it seemed as if Washington would not respond at all, but after some time spent with their lips pressed together, the General groaned and allowed him a blessed taste of that beloved mouth. His hands came up to cradle the back of Hamilton's neck and head, and Hamilton felt his hair fall loose from his carefully applied velvet ribbon. 

As their kiss came to an end, Hamilton heard merriment behind him and looked over his shoulder to find all of the company clapping and calling out happy congratulations. He flushed, but took the audience in stride with a small nod of his head, unable as he was to bow in his current position. 

Washington, whose breathing had become quite ragged, looked over to the Baron and said, "My dear Inspector General, I have enjoyed myself immensely and thank you for tonight's hospitality. Now, however, I think my men and I will retire to my private quarters. If you would, please instruct the staff not to disturb me at that place and inform them that, in light of the late evening we have all had, I do not expect much work to be done tomorrow at all." 

At this pronouncement, Lafayette and John embraced each other with happy shouts.

"My very dear General Washington," the Baron said, "it would be my absolute pleasure. Good night and rest well, once you are able." 

Hamilton and his three companions left the tent without even pausing to recover their breeches and stockings, hoping instead that the late hour would be enough to conceal their bare legs and ardor-lifted shirt tails until they were safely back to Headquarters. Anything else would not do, for the General made it plain he wanted to waste no time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHOTS SHOT SHOTS SH-SH-SH-SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SH-SH-SH-SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS   
> EVERYBOOOOOOOOOOOODY!
> 
> Welcome to big party chapter! It's getting there, y'all. 
> 
> Next time: thoughts become things.


	8. Chapter 8

They reached Washington's quarters without incident and were glad to find the room empty, warm from the banked fire in the fireplace, and ready to receive them. Hamilton grasped Laurens by the hand to lead him to the neatly made bed, Lafayette close behind. They tumbled together onto the bedclothes in a tangle of limbs, laughing at the predicament the buttons of their waistcoats presented. Finally they were able to divest each other—clumsily and with great impatience—of their clothing, and Hamilton took advantage of the opportunity to run his hands along the fine muscled lines of John's legs, the heated tremble of Lafayette's flanks. 

"I want to have you forever," Lafayette groaned, pressing forward to kiss him thoroughly. Hamilton accepted it, then turned to meet John's mouth, a softer but no less passionate joining. 

"Come here to me," John breathed into his parted lips, "so that you may be inside me as I've so often imagined." And he lay back amongst the bedclothes to spread his legs, his dark, wide eyes staring up at Hamilton with silent pleas. 

Hamilton looked up from the feast spread before him and caught sight of Washington, sitting much too far away in the straight-backed chair by the window. Still half-clothed, he had lifted one powerful, bare leg to rest atop his other knee, and the rumpled fall of his shirt tails and waistcoat provided enough modesty to drive a lesser man to madness. Yet Hamilton retained his wits to ask, "Sir, will you not come closer?" 

He beckoned Washington with his hand, and Laurens and Lafayette joined in the entreaties. Washington, however, merely held up his empty palms and said, "I am content to watch from this spot for the moment. You three are all young men possessed of a vitality which I fear I cannot match, and I would rather allow the night to linger as long as possible. Besides, Hamilton, do you not think Laurens has waited long enough?"

At that, John cast Hamilton a hungry stare. "I have, Ham. His Excellency is very right in this." 

"Yes, we should see to poor John first," Lafayette agreed, leaning down to place a series of wet kisses along Laurens' neck. "I shall keep him occupied while you ready him, yes?"

For once in his life, Hamilton hesitated to act, for although he had had lovers of all sorts in his time, his romps with other men had been confined to furtive touches or a borrowed mouth, never something as total as this. His gaze sought Washington once more as if by instinct. Washington seemed to understand Hamilton's wordless question, and he leaned forward in his chair.

"Listen to your commander," the General said, "and let me be your guide in this." Washington's voice grew deeper and darker the more he spoke, and Hamilton felt each word as a warm shiver down his back. 

"Certainly, sir," he found himself saying, and looked back down to John to measure his reaction. His friend's high color and quick breathing told him all he need know, but in case there was any doubt, he asked, "Would you trust His Excellency to issue my orders, John?"

A frantic nod was his response. "Only do not let him tarry, Your Excellency," he said with a glance to Washington. 

"No, we won't have that." The General gestured to Lafayette, who sat quivering on his knees at John's side. "Do place Laurens' head in your lap, Lafayette, and be sure to continue your comforting ministrations." 

"Of course, sir," Lafayette said, and did so, allowing John's cheek to rest atop his thigh, bending low over him to kiss and nip at his open lips. 

"Hamilton," Washington said, "you will need to prepare the boy thoroughly. There is a small pot of ointment in the nightstand, a mixture of my own invention. Fetch it and— Yes, the top-most drawer, very good." 

Hamilton examined the small vessel with great interest before loosening the lid and sniffing at the ointment within. It held the familiar smell of juniper and mint, a particular component of Washington's own scent. He wondered at what purpose it might serve His Excellency, and when he dipped his fingertips into the cream, he found it to be pleasingly cool and soothing. 

"Your tongue first, Hamilton, before you apply that," the General advised. "It will ease the way for you considerably, but its flavor is not one of its charms." 

Perceiving clearly what Washington wished of him, Hamilton set the little pot aside in the bedsheets and situated himself in the warm V of John's legs. His hands curled 'round the shape of John's hipbones, which canted up to expose him to Hamilton's mouth. Hamilton could not resist puffing a warm breath against the hole there, and John jerked in his grasp with a surprised yelp. 

"I swear I will unleash a string of curses that would make even the Baron blanch, Ham, if you do not—" 

"Shush, darling John," Lafayette cooed, and petted at his hair, the strands of which were working loose from his queue in beautiful wild curls. "Alexander will not tease forever."

"Indeed not," Hamilton murmured, then applied himself to his task with unmitigated eagerness. He used the flat of his tongue to swipe at John as a cat might lap at a dish of cream, and he grinned just as wide as said cat. The appreciative moans of his friend spurred him on; he glanced toward Washington and found him watching with benevolent interest, which only fueled his ardor. 

"And now your hands, son," Washington said, and Hamilton was forced to shut his eyes tight for just a moment to regain his bearings. That _voice_! He recovered long enough to grope for the ointment while Washington's words urged him onward. "Yes, be sure your fingers are very slick, Hamilton. Excellent. One digit to start; we mustn't overwhelm dear Laurens."

"Oh, we mustn't?" John gave a slightly hysterical laugh which ceded to a moan as Hamilton breached him with slow care. Hamilton shuffled his gaze among all the points of interest: his fingertip inside John's blaze-hot body, Lafayette's eager teeth catching his own bottom lip, John's pleasure-wracked face, and Washington's heavy, heavy stare. 

"Another." 

Hamilton complied to make John react with shuddering groans and Lafayette to shiver in sympathy. "That is well done," their General said. "Do you know, Hamilton, that your hands have always held my fascination? I have watched you cradle a quill in your finely wrought fingers too many times to count, desirous of feeling their touch myself."

"Then draw nearer, Your Excellency, and I will touch you however you wish," Hamilton breathed. His hand still moved against John but, he reasoned, he had two of them. 

Washington shook his head with a fond sigh. "Patience, son. Finish one task before you start another." 

"Yes, please! Finish," John gasped out. 

"Are all of my boys so impatient tonight?" Washington mused. "Very well. Lafayette, come to me. This moment shall be for Laurens and Hamilton to enjoy, just the two of them." 

"Sir!" After first quickly replacing his leg with a folded pillow under John's head, Lafayette bounded with undisguised zeal to stand behind Washington's chair. He draped his long, strong arms 'round the General's shoulders and propped his chin there as well so that he might have the same view of Hamilton and Laurens on the mattress. "You have arranged them beautifully, sir," he said. 

"Thank you, Lafayette. Now Hamilton, if you deem him ready, give Laurens your cock." He lifted a hand and cupped the back of Lafayette's head, encouraging him to press kisses to his regal neck. "And be sure you do not rush. This isn't a foot race."

John stared up at him, good humor and deep love both shining in his eyes. "Best heed our good commander, Hammie. Come." And he grasped Hamilton's wrist himself and pulled his fingers free before reaching for his cockstand. 

"Slow. _Slow_ ," Washington kept repeating as Hamilton entered John. 

"Yes, sir," he answered through clenched teeth. He supported himself with arms braced on either side of John's thrashing head, though his elbows threatened to give way at any moment. Finally, after a long slide, he was fully seated inside John. His trembles did not subside, and John lay beneath him, panting and mewling. 

"Your Excellency," Hamilton bit out, "may I move now?" 

"Hold," Washington said, sounding near to bored. He guided Lafayette with a hand in his hair to pay homage to his throat, and Lafayette's hands found work at his collar and stocks. "Laurens? Would a thrust from Hamilton overwhelm you at this moment?"

"No, sir," John cried. "Please, please—" 

"Then move within him, Hamilton, but gently so that you cause him no undue pain."

It was a cascade of pleasure to fuck into John as Washington directed him, and Hamilton found himself building upwards to a rhythm that John only matched. His long legs came up to wrap 'round his hips, delicate ankles hooking together at the small of his back. They were both of them damp with sweat and Hamilton looked up to see that same fine dew on Washington's proud brow. His eyes—and those of Lafayette, for that matter—were bright and glittering in the shadowy light cast by the fireplace. They spoke of a deep hunger, one that Hamilton ached to sate. 

"Your touch," John panted in his ear. "I need it, need you—" 

"Stroke him off, Hamilton," Washington growled, "until he spends into your hand."

He was following the order before it was even complete, wrapping his fingers 'round Laurens' hard cock, teasing the hood from its head, pumping it firmly in his fist. "Spend for me, John," he whispered, "spend for us all, love."

Laurens let loose a needful cry, and his eyes left Hamilton's face to fasten upon Washington. The plea was silent, but the General took pity and said, "Go ahead, son."

It was if lightning had coursed through his body at the command, causing John to arch his spine and dig his fingers into Hamilton's shoulders. He came off with a shout. Hamilton stroked him through the crisis of it, his fingers slick with John's release. 

"Sir—!" Hamilton called out, for his own end was fast approaching, hips moving to a frantic beat. 

"Onto his belly, Hamilton. I'd like to see it," Washington said. 

There was no other option once the words were said. Hamilton pulled his cock from John's twitching body and finished as ordered: long, wet stripes painting across the flushed skin below him. 

"John," he moaned. "Dear god, John…."

"I have you. I have you," John chanted, and he held Hamilton as the tremors passed through his body. Hamilton fell atop him at last, the both of them wrung dry, limbs entwined, mouths searching for each other and air in equal measure. 

"Our work is not yet finished," Lafayette reminded them. "Look here."

Hamilton turned his head and blinked the sweat from his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw Washington still seated in his chair, though Lafayette's clever hands had made fast work of his buttons and stays. His waistcoat hung open, his neckwear, dangling. And most intriguing of all, his thick, rigid hardness was now on view, with Lafayette's whole hand wrapped 'round only a portion of it. Washington breathed deeply as Lafayette stroked him, saying, "I believe I shall join you boys now if you are willing."

The stiffness was already returning to Hamilton, and he grinned down at a smiling Laurens, whose body shared his renewed ardor. "Perfectly willing, Your Excellency." 

"Yes, both of you, sir." John held out his hand to beckon them, and Washington rose from his chair, striding toward the bed. Lafayette outpaced him and shot forward to clamber next to his friends. 

However, as the General began to climb onto the mattress with one great palm and one knee placed there, the bedstead gave an alarming creak. All four men froze, eyes wide.

"I do not think," Hamilton whispered, "that this bed was designed to hold us all."

Lafayette, as befit his strategic mind, came upon a solution. "The floor, then," he cried, and ushered them in the direction of the fireplace. He went to the armoire and pulled the General's massive black cloak free from the stacks of clothing there, and this he spread upon the rug in front of the warmth of the banked fire. "Here, Your Excellency, if you would do us the honor?" 

Laurens, thinking quickly, added the pillows from the bed to their new spot on the ground along with the pot of ointment. "Is this comfortable enough, sir, or shall I attempt to drag the mattress—?" 

"My dear boys, I have slept rough more nights than I can count," Washington said, "and did not have, at those times, the advantage of bedmates such as yourselves to ease me. This will do just fine." 

Hamilton did not argue, but focused his attention on stripping the last of Washington's clothes from his body, and when he was finally done, he stood gazing at the sight with the bundle of waistcoat and shirt forgotten in his arms. "Look," he told John and Lafayette. "Look at what we are being given tonight."

Washington allowed them to have their fill of him, even turning 'round in a circle with his arms outstretched. "It is nothing," he demurred. "Only the vessel I have had for many, many years. I do not think you would marvel at it so, if not for love."

Lafayette came boldly before him and, lacking Washington's considerable height, grabbed him by the back of the neck and brought his face down for a deep kiss. "If not for love," Lafayette said when they parted, "we would have nothing." 

A truly fond smile crossed Washington's face, and he caressed Lafayette's cheek with the back of his hand. "My affectionate Marquis, it is your passion we must thank for what we now enjoy." Then, turning to John and tucking an errant curl behind his ear, "And our courageous Laurens, you spoke the truth when we were content to remain forever silent. And Hamilton—" He drew Hamilton into the harbor of his arms and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his mouth. Hamilton accepted these gifts with burning pleasure, carelessly dropping the bundle of clothes to the floor. "Is there anything in this world or the next that might stop you?" Washington murmured. "You persevere, my beloved, in the face of all odds."

As sweat-slicked and filthy with fluids as he was, Hamilton had never felt as purely anointed as he was upon hearing those words from Washington's lips. "Tell me how we might please you, sir," he said as his hip rubbed against his commander's hardness. 

"Come, lie down with me." 

They all stretched out along the floor atop the General's spread cloak, forming a loose knot of arms and legs. Hands roamed freely, and kisses were given and received from all parties. Hamilton, in the midst of it all, couldn't keep every touch ordered in his mind, and soon it escaped him who exactly cupped his stones, who bit at his hardened nipples, and who probed his entrance with sure fingers. It was all as a dream from which he hated to wake.

At some point, a cockhead nudged his lips and he looked up to find Lafayette the owner of it. 

"You would enjoy making use of that mouth of yours, no?" he asked in French, and Hamilton, smiling, suckled at him. 

"English, please," Washington admonished. "I am too old to learn another tongue."

"Come, Ham," Laurens said, also in Lafayette's native language, "turn over so that we might prepare you for His Excellency. It will be a sweet surprise."

"Ah! Yes, I should like to ride him," Hamilton said in French as well. "He would enjoy that, don't you think?"

"It may take a few moments until you're ready. Have you seen his size?" Lafayette whistled.

"What the devil are you all saying?" Washington snapped, and the three of them laughed. 

"Nothing of consequence, sir," Hamilton said, and he flipped over onto his hands and knees to allow John the chance to stretch his hole further. 

Lafayette took the opportunity to guide Washington onto his back, arranging some pillows beneath his noble head. "There you are, sir," he said in deferential English. "We will take care of you now." His hand went to Washington's heavy cock and stroked it without the intention to titillate, only to provide some passing relief. 

"You three need not focus all of your attentions on myself; that is hardly fair."

"Oh no, sir," Laurens said as he helped Hamilton onto Washington's lap, facing away, "it is most judicious, to be sure. Hamilton?"

Hamilton muttered a curse as he sank down on Washington's thickness. "Quite large," he panted, "as Lafayette said." Any pain was only made exquisite by the fullness he now felt.

Washington's hands flew to his hips, keeping him steady and in place. Only the smallest tremor in his long legs, stretched out before Hamilton as they were, betrayed any battle for control in their beloved commander. 

"Alexander—" he said, a warning.

Hamilton looked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of that normally stoic face now creased in pleasure, pleasure that he himself had created. "Allow me to do this work so that you might have no task but to enjoy yourself," he said. And he rose, then fell on Washington.

Washington gave a strangled groan. "No task save that and my continued self-discipline," he said. "My god, you are tight around me."

As Hamilton watched his General unravel over his shoulder, Lafayette lay closer and attended to Washington's slack lips with many kisses. Between nips to their commander's full mouth, he murmured a series of encouragements that flowed in and out of both his languages. "My precious Excellency," Lafayette named him, "my own desire, my heart is full to see you take your pleasure." He ran his hands over Washington's shorn hair, causing a fine mist of his sweat to fall upon the small of Hamilton's back. 

"Lafayette— No, Laurens," Washington panted. "See that Hamilton is not neglected." And he turned his head to seek out more of Lafayette's mouth. 

"Just so, sir," John said, and Hamilton faced forward to find him very near his side. John's hands roamed over him, teasing at his bouncing cock and rolling his stones against each other. They kissed, Hamilton moaning out his contentment. 

He broke free for only a moment to say in French, "John, do you think this would be a fine time to ask the General for my own command?" 

Lafayette and Laurens laughed so uproariously, Washington's thick fingers dug into the skin of Hamilton's hips in surprise. "You jest? _Now_?" he demanded, and Hamilton glanced back at him with a self-assured smile on his lips. 

He planted himself firmly down on His Excellency's cock, relishing the resulting groans, and said, "Do you not enjoy my playfulness, sir?" 

"I will show you what I enjoy," Washington growled and, with a strength so often talked-of and so carefully concealed in his day to day life, manhandled Hamilton forward onto his stomach without once removing his cock from him. Hamilton gasped at this new position and clenched his fingers into the fine fabric of the black cloak beneath them. His Excellency was a heavy weight upon his back, and with this newfound leverage, he was free to piston into Hamilton's body with all the vigor he had previously withheld. 

Hamilton looked up through his tangled fall of loose hair, his cries half-caught in his throat. "Sir, yes!" He saw, through the haze of his enjoyment, that Laurens and Lafayette had knelt close at hand to watch their lovemaking, stroking each other off in time with Washington's thrusts. As their eyes met, Hamilton perceived that Lafayette was very close to his small death, and he pleaded with Washington: "May the Marquis release in my mouth, sir?"

The well-ordered thrusts did not stutter nor cease, and Washington answered, "Yes, as he says, Lafayette." 

Hamilton barely had time to part his lips before Lafayette's cock was shoving onto his tongue, where he came off with a ragged sigh. The taste was bitter but welcome, and Hamilton swallowed every drop. " _Merci_ , sir, my thanks, my thanks." Lafayette stroked the hair out of Hamilton's face with perfect tenderness. "And thanks to you, dear Ham." 

He returned to Laurens to assist in bringing him off as well, and after witnessing that, Hamilton allowed his eyes to drift closed. The feeling of Washington inside him, atop him, was too much for him now, and waves of constant joy pounded relentlessly on his own shore. He pressed his cheek into the soft cloak and breathed, "Sir, I— Soon I must—"

The voice in his ear was warm and dark. "Then do so, Alexander," Washington murmured, and Hamilton's body, moved to the brink of pleasure, followed the command. His trapped cock spent endlessly beneath his belly, onto the cloak, and his cries were muffled only by the General's own kiss. 

As he returned to his senses, Hamilton realized he had nearly missed the small tremors and gasps of Washington's as he found his own end, so controlled as they were. He reached a hand behind himself to cup the back of that noble head, whispering nonsense love words, content to drift among the feeling of bare skin against his and the hot drip of fluid between his thighs. 

"My own cupbearer," Washington said for his ears alone, and kissed the back of his slick neck. "You did wonderfully." Hamilton did not bother to fight the shiver that passed through him at that.

One by one, John and Lafayette came to kiss him and tell him how beautiful he'd looked in his throes, and it was their caring hands that helped Hamilton part from Washington at last. The four of them huddled together on the outspread cloak, damp as it was from their exertions, for the heat of the fire would soon solve the worst of it. John had the presence of mind to tug the quilt from the abandoned bed, and this he tucked over them all. 

Lafayette burrowed into Washington's left side, and Hamilton found a place on his right with John curled up close behind him. His two companions soon found sleep as their light snores attested, yet Hamilton remained awake, resting his head on his commander's broad chest. It was warm and quiet now, a blessed peace. 

"Would that we could be so every night," he said. 

Washington's hand came up to stroke through his hair. "I might not survive such activity," Washington said. "I am, after all, not a young man any longer."

Hamilton huffed a laugh into his skin. What a precious thing, to be given even this small bit of Washington's good humor. But he sobered quickly as his thoughts crowded in. He could not foresee such happiness lasting, for it never did in his experience. "What happens now, sir? Will you wake in the morning and look upon us with regret?" 

Washington placed a single finger under Hamilton's chin and lifted it so that he might meet his gaze. "I shall never regret my Hamilton," he said. "Rest now. I will be here when you awake." 

"Sir," Hamilton said, and closed his eyes as ordered, a smile resting on his lips.

__________________________

"Ah, take care!" Hamilton sputtered as Lafayette dumped yet another kettle-full of hot water over his head. "You will drown me."

"Good. Then at least you will be clean," John said from his perch on the farmhouse table. He wore an overlarge shirt that hung past his knees, the item stolen from the General's own wardrobe. For now he seemed content to watch Hamilton bathe in the small brass tub that had been placed in the middle of the kitchen, right before the hearth.

Hamilton blinked the water from his eyes and tucked his knees under his chin. "Just wait. When you take your turn, I will be sure to douse the salt right out of your mouth." 

"Boys…." the General said, not looking up from the sheaf of papers spread on the table before him. He had not bothered to dress after ordering his bathwater drawn; as most of the staff were still abed anyway, privacy was in no short supply downstairs. His only gesture toward modesty was the bedsheet he had wrapped 'round his hips. 

"Apologies, sir," they chorused, and Lafayette returned to heating up another kettle of water. He, at least, remained as nude as Hamilton.

"I still protest," Hamilton said in vain after a moment. "You should be the first to bathe, sir. It isn't right to have us make use of your tub before you."

" _I_ was not made as filthy last night as you were, Hamilton, or Laurens for that matter." Washington affixed his signature to the bottom of one page before he reached for another. "We can't have you running about camp with the smell of lovemaking on you, can we?" 

Hamilton didn't see why not, but the decision was out of his hands; Lafayette was already working the soap into his loose hair. 

"Once you are clean for the General," he whispered to Hamilton, "he will have the pleasure of dirtying you all over again, no?"

Hamilton hummed as if in deep thought. "Why wait for cleanliness?" he asked, and scooped up a handful of soap bubbles to fling into Lafayette's own locks. A startled yelp was followed by a swift dunking, and Laurens swung into the fray without a care as for which side he might fight. 

Washington shuffled his papers with a heavy sigh, but Hamilton caught a glimpse of his contented grin. "Do not allow every drop of water to spill onto the flagstones, please," was all he said, and sipped at his cup of warm milk. He locked eyes with Hamilton then, and they shared a look of complete, encompassing understanding which would color their dealings for many years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap, friends. This was the most fun. Thank you for reading it and coming to my [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/) to scream about it and Mister Jackson's face. Thank you [Poose](http://pitcherplant.tumblr.com/) and [Ji](http://crying-of-lot-37.tumblr.com/) for being the best at making me write things. Thank you, Mister Jackson, for your face. 
> 
> I love you all. You're the best.


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